


Stretch

by pickledbrows



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Injury, M/M, Physical Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:19:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9203573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickledbrows/pseuds/pickledbrows
Summary: Competitive figure skater Viktor Nikiforov injures himself on vacation right after winning another gold medal and is in need of a physical therapist. Enter the quiet Dr. Katsuki.Otherwise known as, physical therapy AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ha. Did we need this? No. Never. I was actually injured several weeks ago and am going through what Viktor is about to go through. Time for a journey!
> 
> Got some HC feels from twitter user: katsukiy_onIce
> 
> Also, Yuuri is aged up. He's got a doctorate after all.
> 
> Let's also pretend Bryant Park winter village is still open during Worlds?
> 
> Please drop a kudos and comment! If I get anything inaccurate, let me know. I'm not a physical therapist. I'm just hurting.

* * *

It was hard getting out of the taxi. The last time Viktor had had this much trouble was when he’d torn the tissues in both his kneecaps. At the same time. From one failed jump. Rehabilitation for that had been gruesome, especially since he’d tried to get back onto the ice less than two months after surgery. Yakov still wouldn’t let him hear the end of it and last night was not an exception.

They’d found an urgent care clinic near the hotel they were staying at and had made an appointment first thing this morning. Or, Yakov had. Viktor had been lying on his stomach with several packs of ice on his lower back, phone in hand. He’d had to cancel the plans he’d made with Chris, who’d also decided to stay in New York for a bit before going back home.

So sad. They were supposed to go dancing tomorrow night.

“Thank goodness this was _after_ the competition,” Yakov said with heavy frustration, “Imagine not being able to take on the Worlds because of your stupid tricks.”

Stupid tricks indeed. One minute they were drinking hot cider in Bryant Park and in the next, Viktor was slamming into the ice rink barricade in order to dodge a group of children. He probably shouldn’t have been showing off, but he’d won gold again and couldn’t help his excitement. Plus, everyone else was doing jumps, why not him?

He’d been okay at first, thought it’d just turn into a terrible bruise, but as the night wore on he found the pain intensifying and weakness in his left leg. This morning, he tried to roll over onto his back and the pain had shot up and down his body so sharply he’d actually shouted.

Here he was now with his coach, at the door of some chain clinic in a neighborhood outside of Manhattan. Yakov shuffled in front of him and pulled the heavy wooden door open, complaining of its weight, and Viktor hobbled his way inside. The receptionists greeted him cheerfully and he made his way over with Yakov still grumbling curses in Russian at his side.

“Good morning, we called this morning about an appointment,” Viktor said cheerfully, trying not to shift his weight too much on his left leg.

“Viktor Nikiforov? 9:45?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Is English okay?”

He blinked. “Yes, of course.”

Had his English not been good?

The receptionist set several papers on a clipboard and presented him a pen, stating the usual instructions on what to fill out and where to sign. Oh, that’s why she’d asked, to see if he could read English. Even if he couldn’t, he’d filled out plenty of these in his life to know where everything had to go. He’d been injured plenty times before.

“Have a seat and we’ll call your name shortly,” the cheerful lady said and Viktor nodded before making his way to the nearest chair.

He eased himself down, wincing at the terrible pain spiking down his leg. It was sharp and left a numb pulsing sensation somewhere in his lower back. Probably nothing broken, but definitely something that shouldn’t be left ignored. He’d done that once and had been set back a year and a half from skating.

The forms were completed and Yakov handed them in for him, asking if he wanted water or wished to remove his coat. He wanted both, but his clothing would have to wait. It was too painful to move right now.

As he sipped from the small paper cup, he glanced around the room. There was only one other person in the waiting area, flipping through a wrinkled magazine with a bored expression.

“They need to clean this place up,” Yakov muttered under his breath in Russian and Viktor laughed, regretting it. It was so painful.

“It’s not too bad. And you said a big hospital wouldn’t be a good choice since it’d attract too much attention,” he reminded his coach.

“I’m glad nobody has heard about this,” Yakov replied, “Not yet, at least. They’ll wonder why we’re staying here so long.”

“It’s not like we have to go home yet. You said I could have a vacation if I won Worlds.”

“Wait, you didn’t tell that friend of yours, did you?”

“Of course I did. He laughed at me.”

Viktor had laughed at himself as well because of the circumstances that led him to this chair in a cramped, Brooklyn clinic.

He’d planned on staying another week in the city, maybe two, but instead of cruising through the top restaurants and hitting up a few clubs and musicals, here he was on his way to another medical bill and time off the ice. Not that he couldn’t pay the money, he’d just rather spend it on a shopping spree in the Big Apple.

“Viktor?”

He glanced up at the mention of his name and slowly stood, a groan leaving him. As he made his way to the door, he noticed that the young man who’d called him was staring with wide, gray eyes and a partially open mouth, as if shocked. Was it so strange to see an injured person in a clinic?

“Hi!” the nurse—was he a nurse?—greeted before turning stiffly and walking down the hallway, “Right this way Mr. Nikiforov.”

“You said my name correctly,” Viktor said, honestly impressed.

“Oh, did I?” the other man said with a slight stutter followed by nervous laughter, “Lucky guess!”

He led Viktor into a room and gestured to the covered patient’s chair in the middle before leaning in front of a computer.

“I’m Phichit. I’ll be taking your vitals, but they said you came in for a possible injury?”

He typed something on the keyboard.

“Yeah, bit of an accident in the park rink last night,” Viktor explained. It sounded so idiotic saying it aloud. Stupid tricks indeed.

“Ah, okay. Well, I’m the radiologist here, too, so if you need an X-ray I’ll be seeing you again later.”

Oh, so he wasn't a nurse.

Phichit shot him a smile but there was something off about it. He looked nervous. Was he new? Viktor hoped he wasn’t getting a newbie. Not again.

“For now, let’s get done with the basics.”

The basics meant the typical confirmation of name and birthdate as well as details about his home address and number. Phichit didn’t seem surprised that Viktor wasn’t an American citizen, probably due to his accent, and he didn’t comment on the birthday thing either. Americans always got excited that his birthday fell on their Christmas holiday, for some odd reason.

When Phichit had to take his blood pressure and temperature, Viktor noticed his hands were trembling a little. He _was_ new, wasn’t he. Either that, or he had some sort of jittery condition.

“All right, well, the doctor will be in with you shortly. Have a great day. Or, see you later, maybe,” Phichit said and slipped out, shooting Viktor another strange smile. Why was he so nervous?

As expected, Dr. Cialdini, a man originally from Italy who tied his long hair back in a neat ponytail, wrote an order for an X-ray of his spine and left leg. He raised a brow after Viktor gave his long medical history of past injuries and surgeries, and when asked what his career was, Viktor murmured that he was a competitive figure skater.

“Oh? Sorry, I don’t follow it too well,” Dr. Cialdini said. He seemed to think about it for a second, humming as he typed something out on the computer.

For some reason, he then made an apology about Phichit, saying something along the lines of the radiologist sometimes getting too excited and overbearing.

“If he bothers you, just tell him to be quiet,” the doctor said with a laugh before handing Viktor a pair of blue, paper shorts to wear for the scan, “When you’re finished changing, you can crack the door open a bit and he’ll come get you. I’ll see you again after I’ve looked over the X-rays. Nice meeting you.”

Viktor thanked the man before pushing himself up from his seat, biting back a pained moan. There was slight relief to not be sitting anymore, but now his leg was starting to hurt again from the pressure exerted on it from having to balance on one foot. He managed to unbutton and remove his pants, with much effort and grunting, and he tossed them onto his seat instead of folding them as he usually would before bending over to pull up the disposable shorts. It was excruciating.

He limped to the door, pulling it open just a bit, and he jumped when it suddenly swung open wider and Phichit popped his head in.

“Ready?” he asked, a grin plastered across his face. He wasn’t nervous anymore. Overly excited though? Viktor could now understand what Dr. Cialdini meant.

Viktor nodded and followed the cheerful radiologist down the hallway to the X-ray room. It was smaller than the one he was used to seeing back in Russia, but nothing he hadn’t seen before.

“Okay, let me set up the bed first,” Phichit said and Viktor stepped to the side, nervously anticipating the moment when he’d have to lie himself down. On his back.

He’d had a lot of trouble lying down last night and then rising from his bed this morning. It took some rolling over, pivoting, and aid from Yakov’s feeble strength to get him halfway seated. After a bit more scooting and wincing, he’d managed to get his feet on the floor, though he’d needed a few extra seconds to breathe before standing.

Phichit was saying something that Viktor missed, so he asked the other man to repeat it, to which he received that strange smile again.

“Oh, I just, I was just saying how Ciao Ciao said you were a figure skater.”

“Ciao Ciao?”

“Ah, the doctor. Cialdini, I meant,” nervous laughter, “So, you skate? Like, on ice?”

Viktor nodded.

“Are you a pro? Is it a hobby?”

Oh, here we go. Yakov would kill him for this.

“I’m a professional back in Russia,” he said, “But! Please, don’t…”

Phichit cast him a look between confusion and shock, and then made a shooing gesture with his hand.

“No worries! Secret’s safe! That’s so cool though. I wish I could skate! You’re famous too so that’s even more cool!”

Viktor could only smile at the praise, quite familiar with hearing such remarks. He shifted his weight to his right leg, hoping to sit but also wishing he could just float and not deal with gravity for a while.

Phichit pressed a switch on the floor with his foot, and after the bed lowered, he motioned to it.

“Go ahead and lie on your back for me? Take your time. If you need assistance I’m here.”

He stepped aside and Viktor made his way over, bracing himself as he lowered his bottom to the cushioned surface. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to overcome the pain, and managed to get himself on his back, though he was partially curled on his side. It hurt far too much to straighten out his body.

“Can you bend your knees?” Phichit asked, one hand guiding Viktor’s legs the way he wanted, “There, like this is okay. It’ll straighten out your back more. Feel better?”

“A lot, thanks.”

Viktor released a shaky exhale and settled his hands high on his chest as the bed rose back up. He tried to find a happy place in the back of his mind so he could get through the pain running along every nerve in his core. Phichit reached over him, moving the overhead device over his abdomen and tilting it.

“Okay, I’m going to feel your side a little to make sure you’re properly lined up,” Phichit said, settling his fingers softly against Viktor’s waist. He prodded and pushed a little so Viktor would move how he wanted, eyes focused on a screen on the side of the scanner.

“Wow, you really are an athlete,” he remarked, “So much muscle!”

Viktor couldn’t even begin to feel awkward. Not when Phichit was making him rotate just a little bit more in a certain direction, elevating the pain.

“Sorry if this hurts but I need to make sure I get it right. People with a lot of muscle can be hard to X-ray sometimes. It’s like I’m digging for your bones,” he rambled on and after several more adjustments, he told Viktor to stay as still as he could before disappearing behind a wall.

“I’ll be telling you to hold your breath, so please listen,” he said through a speaker and Viktor hummed in response. He was gritting his teeth at this point.

“Hold your breath, please?”

Several beeps from the machine.

“And you can breathe again. Relax.”

There was no way he could relax. He felt like his right leg would cramp from the strange way he tried to transfer pressure into it. There was audible clicking and typing from wherever direction Phichit had disappeared to, before he reappeared at Viktor’s side. He grabbed hold of the overhead and tilted it the other way.

“Okay, I’m going to need to take one of your tailbone. And then you’ll have to turn on your side,” he said with an apologetic smile, “And _then_ , we’ll have to take some more of your left leg, to make sure it’s not your knee again.”

Viktor groaned.

* * *

                                    // you will not believe whos with

                                     ciaociao right nownow // 

/ Aren’t you working? /

                                    // im crying! real tears! //

/ Go back to work /

                                    // I got to see inside    

                                        viktor nikiforov’s

                                        body. Inside! HIS BONES //

/ what the actual fuck??

WHAT?? /

                                    // dont get too jealous brb putting

                                        up my new viktor bone posters //

/ That’s gross. /

                                    // you’re just jealous I got to poke

                                        viktor’s bones and see them up close

                                        in HD //

/ are you fucking serious

though?? /

                                    // ive lived the life yuuri katsuki can

                                        only dream of //

/ WHAT /

* * *

The cramped elevator either had a heater or good enough insulation to keep out the chill from the hallway. Viktor removed his outer coat, wincing at the pain from the slight stretch, and held it against his chest. Beside him, Yakov scoffed and grumbled while taking the garment away. 

“I told you not to strain yourself,” he scolded.

“Thanks for coming along with me,” Viktor said with a smile.

His coach mumbled something about him being a helpless idiot, as usual, and the elevator doors opened. They stepped out and glanced around for the office that should’ve been nearby.

Right there, directly on the left.

“Oh, strange they’d put steps here,” Viktor said and bit back a wince as he slowly made his way up the two steps. He truly felt helpless when it came to stairs, as scarce as they might be.

“Idiots. Just trying to make this place fancy,” Yakov said and moved in front of him, opening up the heavy glass door for Viktor who limped his way in.

This office had been referred to him by the urgent care clinic he’d seen two days before. The diagnosis was a bruising of his tailbone and in his knee that would thankfully not need surgery or an orthopedist. Viktor was sure the one he’d gone to before back home in Saint Petersburg would only scold him for injuring himself this badly yet again. An operation also meant more time off the ice, which could possibly hinder him for the next skating season.

Viktor had received a list of physical therapists from Dr. Cialdini, and this one had been his best match because it mainly served athletes. It meant the treatment would be properly suited to his career needs, but it also meant that his confidentiality would stay intact. So far, nobody had caught whiff of his unfortunate accident.

The waiting area was empty with only a sofa, two chairs, and the receptionist desk. Cozy and warm, but not excessively so. Yakov hung their coats on a wall hook while Viktor made his way to the front desk. The young man, small and with light freckles dusting his nose, sitting behind it beamed up at him.

“Are you Viktor Nikiforov?” he asked, sliding over a clipboard with several sheets of paper stuck on it. Of course, more of this.

“Yes. I have an appointment with…”

“Dr. Katsuki. Yes, he’s waiting for you. I need you to fill out this paperwork first and then have you change. Did you bring something? Like workout clothes?” the receptionist asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay! After you finish this, I’ll lead you to a room where you can change.”

Yakov took his paperwork up to the counter for him when he finished while he dug into his backpack for his training clothes. Luckily, he’d had a pair since he was coming straight out of competition. The receptionist, who went by the name Guang-hong, showed him to a room where he could change and told him to come back out to the front when he was done. He seemed to be smiling to himself about something. Either that, or he naturally had a secretive smile on his face at all times.

The pain Viktor had been feeling in his lower back and leg had lessened, though it still took a bit of deep breathing to stand on one leg so he could properly change his pants. He’d wanted to come here in his training clothes, but Yakov said he needed to dress more warmly. Which was funny, because the temperature here was not something Viktor couldn’t handle. He wore these sweatpants out on the ice. He would’ve been fine.

Changing his shirt was an easy task, though the stretch of his arms did cause a slight twinge in his back. He’d never injured his spine before, and he found it fascinating how much even the lowest part was used during every day activities.

He folded his clothes this time, leaving them on the chair in the room, and then made his way out. Yakov asked if he was okay, to which he nodded, and then Guang-hong led him down the same hallway, this time taking a right turn down a different corridor that opened into a spacious room.

Blinds were pulled up from floor-to-ceiling windows, allowing natural lighting to flood in, and a variety of exercise equipment ranging from a treadmill to a weight rack lined the sides. A large portrait of a famous tennis player hung on an otherwise blank wall, and beneath it stood a cleanly prepped massage table. In the furthest corner of the room was a desk, a man seated behind it and studying something on his laptop. Viktor made his way over, noticing that Guang-hong had already quietly snuck away.

“Viktor?” he said and looked up through blue-framed glasses, “Viktor Nikiforov, right?”

“Yes, nice to meet you…”

“Dr. Katsuki. But you can just call me Yuuri. Or Dr. Katsuki. Or, well, whatever you want.”

The man gave a nervous laugh before sticking out his hand. Viktor took it in his firm grip and gave it a single shake before sitting in the chair opposite of the therapist. He lowered himself slowly, exhaling loudly as he did so, and tried to sit as straight as possible.

“Wow, must hurt, huh?”

“Excruciating,” Viktor grumbled, annoyed more at his own body than at the question.

“Of course! It must be. If you need a pillow or need to lie down, let me know,” Dr. Katsuki said.

Viktor nodded his thanks and the doctor quickly glanced away, chewing on his bottom lip as he tapped on his keyboard.

“You were referred to me by…Dr. Cialdini? Oh.”

“Yes. I saw him two days ago,” Viktor answered, wondering about the surprise on the other’s face at the mention of the other doctor’s name.

“Small world,” Dr. Katsuki murmured, “Or not. Let’s see. Can you tell me more about your injury?”

Viktor broke out his story again, with thinner details. Skating in Bryant Park. A little too much excitement. Stopping mid-jump so he wouldn’t fall onto a group of wobbling kids. Slamming into the rink side after evading a straggler.

“Are you a professional athlete or is this a hobby?” Dr. Katsuki queried, voice soft, kind of too soft. Viktor had to lean in closer to hear him.

“I’m a competitive figure skater. I just finished at the Worlds and was planning on being here for a bit of vacation before heading back to Russia,” he said as lightly as he could. Those types of details would be okay here. Professionals came here all the time.

Dr. Katsuki didn’t type. Didn’t look up at him. Didn’t blink. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. Then, he stood up stiffly and excused himself to a backroom. Viktor stared at his retreating back.

Had he said something strange?

* * *

 

                                    / I cannot believe

                                       he is real

                                       wtf

                                       what the flying fuck /

// CRAZY I KNOW //

                                    / And you referred him

                                       to me because???

                                       You’re trying to kill

                                       me because??? /

// You mean Thank you

I love you

I worship your feet

Phichit is a blessing//

                                    / I honestly cannot

                                       believe you right now /

// Did you poke his

bones? And his muscles!

He is a rock! //

                                    / This is against all

                                       kinds of professional

                                       integrity /

// Fuck integrity. No wait

fuck viktor! //

                                    / please stop

                                       don’t talk about him

                                       so crudely /

// sorry sorry i’m just

trying to help you achieve

your goals

he’s so beautiful right

are you crying yet???

i’m still crying//

                                    / I’m with him right now

                                       and he just confirmed

                                       who he is and I’m freaking

                                       out a little???

                                       Why is he real??? /

// give him an extra nice

ass massage //

                                    / PLEASE STOP /

* * *

 Yuuri sighed and ran a hand through his hair before pocketing his phone and stepping back out of the room. He breathed deeply before making his way back into the main rehabilitation room. 

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said as calmly as he could to the man sitting patiently at his desk.

“No problem,” Viktor Nikiforov, five-time world champion of figure skating and actual Olympic gold medalist before all of that, replied in that thick, Russian accent.

Yuuri had listened to that heavenly accent flowing out of his television and recently YouTube for years. Years!

He was going to faint. His legs felt like jelly. He couldn’t do this.

He’d been dreaming of this day since the moment he signed up to be a physical therapist, even though his hopes of ever providing service to his all-time favorite figure skater had been empty. Viktor was Russian. He lived in Russia. What were the odds he’d hurt himself in a bizarre public rink accident in Bryant Park right after scoring another gold medal on the world platform? What were the odds it would happen during this year, the year Yuuri had decided to stay in New York instead of moving back to his small hometown?

What were the odds?

Taking his seat once more, Yuuri readjusted his glasses that had slipped down his nose and tried to shoot Viktor as pleasant a smile as he could muster, given the circumstances.

“Let me ask you a few more questions and then we’ll get started,” he said, cursing himself when his voice began to waver.

“Okay.”

That single word had him almost racing to the bathroom to cry in the sink. Almost.

Then Viktor shot him a charming smile, the same one mirrored on Yuuri’s laptop background taken from a recent magazine interview scan. He maximized his document to block out every centimeter of his wallpaper entirely, even though Viktor couldn’t see his screen anyway.

His legs began to shake beneath his desk.

He couldn’t do this.

There was no way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M HONESTLY SO SHAKEN UP BY HOW MANY PEOPLE LIKE THIS FIC I'M???? like Yuuri right now. Freaking out. Oh my goodness! I don't usually reply individually to comments but like, thank you all so much! And for the kudos and bookmarks? And this fic even being added to a collection like wow? So much blessings.
> 
> My twitter PT friend helped me out again with writing this chapter. Shout out to you!
> 
> And GUESS WHAT??? The wonderful yurionniiice drew me art as well??? I'm so shook??? Please check it out [[HERE]](http://yurionniiice.tumblr.com/post/155516024324/a-doodle-of-physical-therapist-yuuri-from-this). It is beautiful.
> 
> Thank you again everyone. And thanks for the well-wishes. I'm recovering, thankfully no surgery is needed.
> 
> Please drop a comment and kudos if you can. Welcome to the rest of this journey!

* * *

Viktor felt like his hips were going numb, even though he’d been sitting for less than ten minutes. Dr. Katsuki had asked him so many questions and after inquiring about Viktor’s previous injuries, he’d gotten up once more to disappear into another room for a few seconds, coming back with a slight flush on his cheeks. Viktor wondered if he was coming down with something.

“Are you okay?” he asked out of concern for his physician. 

“Fine!” the doctor replied, voice abruptly cutting in. He suddenly covered his mouth with one hand, eyes wide, “I’m sorry, Vik—Vikifo—Nikiforov. Mr. Nikiforov! I didn’t mean to be so sharp.”

Viktor chuckled and shifted forward to lessen the pressure in his back. It helped. A little.

“No worries. You can call me Viktor. It’s probably easier, though your pronunciation of my last name is perfect!” he said and offered a smile when the other man seemed to clam up.

Maybe it was a cultural thing not to use first names? He thought, though, that it was normal in America.

“If it’s okay with you,” Dr. Katsuki murmured, staring at his fingers as they tapped lightly on his keyboard.

“Sure! Can I call you Yuuri? Dr. Kasaki is a bit—”

“Katsuki.”

“See! It’s hard for me to say,” Viktor joked and grimaced when he felt another pulsing of pain. He shifted more onto his right side to try and release the pressure on his left.

“Yuuri is fine then,” the doctor said in a low voice and adjusted the glasses that slid down his nose again.

“Sounds good. Yuuri.”

Viktor tested the name out again, trying to pronounce it the way Yuuri had. He hardly noticed when the other man tensed and began chewing on his bottom lip.

“Yuri is also a name in my country,” Viktor mused, remembering one of his rink mates back at home. He wondered how the little spitfire was doing.

“I know. Ah, I mean—!”

“You do?”

Viktor blinked and leaned forward, his interest piqued.

“I’ve heard about it,” Yuuri murmured, pushing his glasses up again even though they had yet to slip down his nose this time, “Somewhere. TV. Maybe.”

Viktor hummed in response. The room grew quiet as Yuuri began to type something up on his computer again and Viktor shifted so he could stretch out his leg. The pain had steadily escalated from numbing to sharp throbbing and he wanted to stand up to relieve himself. Thankfully, Yuuri had the same idea.

“Let’s start!” Yuuri sounded a little enthusiastic and coughed, his voice going quiet, “Come over. Please.”

He rolled in his chair around his desk and Viktor to the center of the room.

“We’re going to do some easy stretches. I want to see what you can do.”

Viktor nodded and braced his hands on his chair, slowly pushing himself up onto his feet. He wasn’t sure if it felt better or worse, but at least he was able to walk over to where Yuuri was without gritting his teeth. The familiar tingle of being able to stretch out his body coursed through his leg, and when he stood in front of the other man, he tried to straighten his back out.

“Based on your medical history, I’d say you know already you’re going to hurt a little more after today,” Yuuri said with a bit of regret. He glanced up at Viktor and offered a shaky, lopsided smile.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Viktor replied, “I’m all yours, Yuuri.”

Yuuri cleared his throat and pushed up his glasses yet again. Did they slip that often? Viktor always wondered what it’d be like to have glasses. If they slid down his nose that often, though, he probably would end up opting for contact lenses as much as possible.

He stood quietly in front of the doctor, watching as Yuuri dropped his hands onto his lap and sat back while looking him up and down. He hummed quietly to himself and glanced down at Viktor’s feet. Then, he reached out with both hands and placed them on Viktor’s waist, thumbs kneading around.

“I’m going to feel down your leg to see where exactly the pain is,” Yuuri said, voice softer.

He sounded like he was going to start coughing and Viktor wondered if perhaps he should get a drink. Before he could suggest it, Yuuri was speaking again.

“You told me that when you dodged those children…what happened exactly?” he asked, gently touching and massaging down the outside of both thighs. Whenever Viktor winced, he’d apologize quietly, but continue regardless on the downward journey.

“I turned and my left side hit the barricade, ah,” Viktor shifted when Yuuri poked a rather tender area, “Then, I fell backwards on the ice.”

“And you hit your tailbone.”

Another invasive poke.

“Sorry!”

“It’s fine. Yes, I fell right on it. Hard. But it didn’t really start hurting until later that night.”

Viktor remembered how Yakov had tried to rush him back to the hotel but he’d brushed the man off, saying he could just sit for a bit and eat a dessert crepe. The treat had been delicious but when he’d tried to stand up from the bench, he noticed the twinge of pain in his lower back and leg.

By the time they’d climbed into a taxi and he was in the elevator heading for his room, the ache had escalated and they’d had to order room service for dinner instead of heading out to the restaurant he’d made reservations for. Quite an unfortunate event.

“Could you spread your legs a little?” Yuuri asked and cleared his throat again, “Just shoulder-width apart. Please.”

Viktor scooted his feet to the appropriate space and Yuuri bent over and wrapped both hands around his left leg, his fingers massaging around his knee. When Viktor flinched, he immediately pulled back.

“Sorry!”

Yuuri cleared his throat again.

“Do you need water?” Viktor asked.

“What? No, no. I just, the air is a bit dry in here. That’s all. You know, winter and all. Well, spring. The pollen is coming in,” Yuuri rambled, “Anyway, try and push up on your toes?”

Viktor did as asked, inhaling deeply when the pain spiked up his thigh and back.

“Hold for thirty seconds,” Yuuri instructed and Viktor began to count down.

His left thigh was trembling when he lowered onto his feet again, and Yuuri asked him to repeat the movement twice more if he could. His eyes moved around the room to distract him from the bite in his tailbone and knee. As he lifted up for the third time, he focused on the portrait of the tennis player on the wall.

“You like tennis?” he asked, trying to remember the name of this particular athlete. It was right on the tip of his tongue.

“Not really. That’s for Guang-hong, the receptionist,” Yuuri mumbled, “Turn and face left, please.”

Viktor did so.

“He likes tennis, then.”

“That and dance. A lot. I mean, he doesn’t dance but he sure likes watching it. For…reasons.”

Yuuri squinted and seemed to be studying something, probably Viktor’s posture. It was horrible, he knew. He could feel it with the way he slouched to try and give his lower body some relief.

“What sports do you like?” he asked, grunting when Yuuri reached out to push against his lower back, “My PT back in Russia is a big fan of figure skating.”

A big fan of him as well, which wasn’t necessarily a problem. It made for great conversation and it meant he knew exactly what to help Viktor with whenever he managed to injure himself. He’d probably be upset to know that Viktor had hurt himself abroad. Off the ice, to boot.

“Oh, um,” Yuuri paused, moving his hand away, “Soccer. I like soccer. Turn left again, please.”

“Do you play?” Viktor asked. He shut his eyes when Yuuri’s hands began prodding at his shoulders, slowly working downwards along his spine.

“Not really,” came the answer.

“No sports?”

A feeble cough. “No.”

When Yuuri’s hands reached the top swell of Viktor’s rear, he pushed firmer toward the center, causing Viktor to jump.

“Sorry! That’s definitely tender! I’m so sorry! Can I go lower? Um, just a little. To see, um…”

“Go ahead,” Viktor said and braced himself as the pain came back when Yuuri pressed right at the bottom of his spine. He pushed up and Viktor instinctively stepped forward, away from the pain.

“All right, I’m done down here! I mean, touching, just, yeah. I’ll stay away from there. Definitely won’t touch your butt. I mean, your, the bottom, the spine! Tailbone!”

Viktor exhaled slowly and nodded. That was a relief.

“You don’t have to sound so worried. I’ve had worse injuries,” he said over his shoulder, “And less gentle therapists.”

He completely missed the blush that rose over Yuuri’s cheeks since his back was turned.

“Feet apart, just a little,” Yuuri requested, “Now, I want you to bend over to your right and stretch your arm out. Like you’re trying to touch the floor.”

Viktor slowly did so and grimaced. He cursed his inability to go as far as he usually could. With a sigh, he raised himself back up and repeated the motion toward his left when Yuuri asked him to do so. Even worse. He could barely do it and his left thigh felt overstrained.

“If you can’t, it’s okay. Turn left again?” Yuuri asked and sat back for a second to study Viktor’s form before asking him one more time to turn so Viktor was now facing him again.

“Don’t hate me but I want you to try and touch your toes. Feet together.”

Viktor paused. He was certain he wouldn’t be able to even get a quarter of the way there, even though normally he was capable of bending completely in half. Yuuri gave him a reassuring nod, looking just as nervous as Viktor was feeling.

“As far as you can go,” Yuuri repeated.

Slowly, Viktor lowered himself forward, fingers pointed to the floor. He immediately pulled back up when he was bent less than halfway.

“Sorry,” he mumbled but Yuuri was shaking his head and waving his arms around.

“No! Really, I’m the one that’s sorry. I know you must be hurting a lot. Could you describe the feeling?”

“Tight. It feels like it’s bunching up. It’s sharp in my left thigh.”

Yuuri nodded, then stood up and removed the coat he’d been wearing. Viktor finally noticed that it was a white coat, like what other doctors wore. His own PT back in Russia never wore one.

“You look so official with that,” he joked and Yuuri gave a shaky laugh.

“I don’t usually wear it. It’s just a bit cold. I mean, it was. It’s hot now,” he replied.

“You did look cold earlier,” Viktor noted, “Your hands were shaking.”

Yuuri spun, turning away from Viktor, and hung his long garment up on a wall hook behind his desk before walking over to the massage table set up on the other side of the room.

“I should’ve turned on the heater,” he explained quickly, “But now I’m fine! So, could you come here and lie down on your stomach? Do you need to sit for a bit? Water? Bathroom?”

“I’m okay,” Viktor answered and made his way over.

He was definitely going to feel this tomorrow and all he’d done was a little stretching. Baby stretches. The kids who weren’t even in competition yet could touch their toes and here he was without most of his flexibility, like an old man.

He slid off his shoes and eased himself up onto the table. Slowly, like dripping honey, he maneuvered himself onto his knees, most of his weight on his right. When he managed to get onto his stomach, he felt winded.

“I’m just going to do a bit of a massage, then I’ll have you practice some stretches that you can do at home,” Yuuri said and slid a pillow beneath Viktor’s stomach, “Does this feel better?”

“Amazingly,” he sighed, fitting his face into the hole of the table, his arms going limp at his sides. The cushions were cool against his skin and he shut his eyes as the back of his shirt was lifted, a warm hand settling atop him. Light as a feather. It moved away and was replaced by something cold.

“This’ll warm up later,” Yuuri explained, “I’m going to move slowly toward the areas that hurt the most, okay?”

Viktor hummed in answer and felt his body settling down as Yuuri’s fingers began tracing circles over his worn muscles, spreading the lotion along his skin. He felt like he was going to fall asleep so he propped his head up on his arms, turning it in the direction of the other man.

“Why physical therapy?” he asked and jumped when Yuuri pressed a little too hard against his lower back.

“Me? Physical therapy? Oh, well…I just, I liked it. I mean, it’s interesting.”

“Is it?” Viktor mused and flinched when those fingers prodded too hard again.

“Yes! Sorry! But, yes! I was never a good athlete but I like sports and wanted to do something with athletic people. Athletes,” Yuuri hurriedly responded. Almost defensively.

“No worries, I’m not judging,” Viktor assured, “I’m just wondering. You must meet a lot of famous people.”

The hand left his back and there was a pause, a shuffling behind him. Then, a palm rested on his left calf.

“Not super famous. I mean, not like you. Your level of famous. You know.”

Viktor didn’t know. It didn’t seem to him that figure skating was such a big deal in America.

“Can you, um, maybe I should’ve asked you to change into shorts,” Yuuri murmured, “So I can touch your thighs. Get to them. Massage, I mean. Unless you don’t want lotion on them or anything.”

“I can just pull them down,” Viktor said and pushed himself onto his elbows, even when the other started to protest, “It’s not a big deal with me."

“It’s fi—okay, well, I’ll cover you with a towel! I apologize for this.”

Viktor shimmied his sweatpants down, grunting when he put a little excess weight on his left leg in doing so. He managed to get them to his knees and laid back down, trying to kick them off himself. Yuuri tugged them the rest of the way off, then draped something over his waist, making Viktor chuckle. Americans were so shy about nudity and he wasn’t even fully naked!

“Could you spread your legs a bit, just, no that’s too much, yes, there. Okay.”

The hand with the cool lotion returned to his left thigh this time and Viktor controlled his breathing as it began massaging along the outer part of his leg. Part of the motion brought pain, but another part of it was appreciated. Yuuri’s touch was so soft and tender, making him want to fall asleep again. He forced his eyes open and asked another question.

“Do you watch figure skating?”

He groaned when Yuuri squeezed a little too hard around his knee, immediately squeaking out an apology afterwards.

* * *

The ice felt so good. Viktor always enjoyed the feeling of cold, hating summer and the hot months whenever he visited other countries where the temperature rose past thirty Celsius. It was especially rewarding to have the cooling sensation on his lower back and around his thighs after the torture he’d been put through. The stretches weren’t anything new to him, but it felt like he’d entered hell trying to do a simple clamshell.

“Viktor?”

He shifted and turned his head, glancing up tiredly at Yuuri who’d bent over to make eye contact with him.

“I’m removing the ice now, okay? Can you get ice in your hotel?” Yuuri asked and the soothing feeling left Viktor’s muscles all too soon.

“Yes. But Yakov, my coach, said he’d buy a proper ice pack,” Viktor said and slowly pushed himself up.

Oh, he’d feel this tomorrow. He felt like a creaky door or a stale noodle, stiff and cracking from the smallest of movements. The imagery made no sense but he was far beyond rationale right now. He just wanted to get back to his hotel room and sleep the rest of the afternoon away.

“Okay. I’ve printed out the exercises that we tried today, with pictures,” Yuuri said, a folder in one hand.

Viktor swung his legs over the side of the table and watched as Yuuri moved to slide a stepping stool beneath his feet.

“Do you need help with your shoes?” he asked with a nervous expression, as if Viktor was going to fall off the table and injure himself further.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He wasn’t but he didn’t want to be doted on any further. He’d dealt with injuries worse than this and a pair of shoes wasn’t going to defeat him. It took several minutes to get them on his feet and he was thankful he’d brought simple slip-on loafers on this trip. If he hadn’t, Yakov would’ve probably bought him a pair, then complained to him about it. Good, sweet, Yakov.

“I’d like to see you again this week. For treatment! I mean, a second treatment. This week.”

Viktor slid down onto his quivering legs, bent over with a groan to retrieve his shoes, and nodded as he slid them on.

“Just one more time this week?” he asked and took the folder from the other man.

“That’d be enough. Ah, you can make an appointment with Guang-hong at the front,” Yuuri said, stepping back, “If you need anything, please call. I’m here. For you. Of course, for you.”

“Thanks, Yuuri.”

Viktor smiled and made his way back to the waiting area. Yakov was sitting there where he’d left him, arms crossed and looking as bothered as he always did. When he saw Viktor, he immediately stood and walked over, taking the folder from his hands, and Viktor turned to speak with the receptionist. The young man perked up when he noticed Viktor, and he stood to make his way over.

“How are you feeling?” Guang-hong asked, voice soft and sweet. Rather soothing.

“As good as it’ll be,” Viktor responded. He felt so tired and he’d barely done anything the past hour-and-a-half.

“You can go back and change and—oh!” Guang-hong’s eyes widened, “Another patient is using the room you left your things in. I’m sorry, I’ll go get your clothes.”

He made his way down the hall, motioning for Viktor to follow. When he came to the previous room Viktor had used, he rapped softly on the door.

“Leo?” he called, “Are there clothes in there?”

“Yeah? I think, oh, yeah,” a voice called back, muffled through the door.

“Could you hand them to me please? The other patient just finished and needs to change.”

“I can just step out for a bit. I only needed to lie down for a little,” the man inside the room answered.

“No, it’s okay. He can use the other room,” Guang-hong said, shooting Viktor an apologetic smile.

There was a crinkling noise, a pause, and then the door opened. A young man on crutches with wavy, brown hair peeked out, glancing between Guang-hong and Viktor.

“But, the other room—”

“It’s okay. Come on, don’t keep him waiting,” Guang-hong chided and took the clothes that slipped through the crack.

He handed them to Viktor and pushed open the door to a neighboring room.

“I’m really sorry,” he said in a small voice, “He usually lies down on the bed in there since it’s more comfortable. I forgot you’d left your things in it.”

“Not a problem,” Viktor said with a smile. This young man reminded him of a mouse with the way he flitted about and spoke so quietly. Not that mice could speak, but if they could, they’d probably all sound like this.

“Did your session go okay with Dr. Katsuki?” Guang-hong asked.

“Yes, it was wonderful. He said he wanted to see me again this week,” Viktor said, stepping into the room.

“Okay! I’ll check the calendar. Please take your time with changing. I know you must be hurting.”

Guang-hong offered a tiny smile, then shut the door, and Viktor moved slowly to the chair in the center of the room. He eased himself onto it, knowing he probably couldn’t put his pants back on without sitting this time. He started first with his shirt, popping his head through, and after pushing his bangs aside, his eyes caught sight of the portrait hanging on the back of the door.

He cocked his head to one side.

It was a photo of him, arms up, back arched, executing an Ina Bauer from last year’s Grand Prix exhibition program.

Oh.

Huh.

* * *

                                    // guang-hong messed up!

                                       aaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!!??? //

/ What? How? He’s a pure

child blessed by the

lords above???

he never messes up /

                                    // He put Viktor in the room! //

// room?

Oh shit.

OH HOLY

HAHAHA. Guang-hong

YES! //

                                   // its not funny

                                      omg he knows

                                      i said i don’t like figure

                                      skating but now he knows //

// no he wont! It’s just

a coinkydink! //

                                   // but he asked guanghong

                                      if he like sfigurkstng and

                                      he said NO becase the only

                                      person who appreciates it is

                                      me //

// hey me too //

                                   // BUT NOW HE KNOWS OMG //

// he’ll probably think

it’s just a random

poster //

                                   // PLLEAS

                                      who would have a poster

                                      and then not recngize the guy

                                      on it when he comes limping

                                      into your ofic??? //

// your typos are highkey

today dr katsuki //

                                   // he calls me yuuri //

// that’s hawt

wheres the little bear

now? //

                                   // probably making out with

                                      leo or something I don’t

                                      know he wont talk to me //

// did you shout at

the sweet child?

Are you messing with my

precious baby bear? //

                                   // HE SAID LEO WARNED HIM

                                      BUT HE FORGOT //

// what a precious smol

little bear //

                                   // im gonna cry

                                      looking like some

                                      weird stalker who

                                      pretended not to know

                                      the dude he felt up for an

                                      hour oh goddsssss //

// we should get drinks

tonight you me guanghong

that dancer boyfriend of

his and even ciaociao! //

                                   // can i drown myself in alcohol //

// only if i can take

photos //

                                   // PLEASE

                                       i am blaming you so much//

// i take the blame if

you take the shame! ;)

btw how did he feel???

isn't he STEEL??

so UNREAL??

makes you want to

have him as a

MEAL?? //

* * *

Yuuri slammed his forehead onto his desk after receiving that last message from Phichit, his phone cradled on his lap. He couldn't answer, not without lying because it was true. Viktor was corded muscle and amazing and he wasn't being a pervert but the man was definitely more good looking in person than he could've ever dreamed.

He couldn’t believe this. He could've kept up the facade but if Viktor ever came back, it was going to be awkward.

There was no way he could complete another session.

He'd almost choked on his own breath several times in the last hour-and-a-half with his idol and he had a feeling Viktor caught on. And now, Viktor would probably make the connection that Yuuri's flustered state was due to the fact that Yuuri actually knew who he was and pretended not to know.

What a disaster.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what's wilder than the amount of comments, kudos, and bookmarks that this fic has received in the past week since I've put it up? This chapter. 
> 
> In which physical therapy is put on hold and Phichit questions his tactics for having a good time.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented so far or left kudos or bookmarked! I'm glad so many people are enjoying this fic. I also want to say that I had to edit the "professional" to "competitive" descriptions of the summary and chapter one. I like when people share with me knowledge that helps me be more accurate. Much thanks to you!

* * *

Phichit dropped in after Yuuri said goodbye to his last client of the day, a pitcher for the Yankees who was recovering from elbow surgery. He kept his hat down over his eyes as he slipped into the empty waiting room, and when the door shut behind him, he tore it off and made his way around the front counter to give Guang-hong a hug.

“Phichit!” the receptionist cried out, caught between panic and cheerful surprise after realizing his friend had managed to get in under his usually watchful eye. Then again, Guang-hong could barely see over his computer monitor, much less the counter.

“Heard you got in trouble today,” Phichit teased and wrapped his arms around the younger man’s shoulders, leaning against him so he was practically squished against the desk.

“I didn’t do anything, ouch—Phichit, wait!”

The cheerful radiologist chuckled and stood up straight to give his friend relief. He glanced to the side and caught sight of his main target for the night who’d decided to peek around the corner after hearing the commotion.

“Yuuri!”

“Phichit, hold on—Ow!”

Yuuri staggered backwards into the hallway when his friend launched himself forward into his arms. He accepted the enthusiastic embrace with as much energy as he could muster and grunted when Phichit squeezed him rather tight around the ribs.

“I can’t believe you really dropped by,” Yuuri said and laughed when Phichit shot him a hurt look.

“I said we were going drinking! But Ciao Ciao can’t make it. So sad!” Phichit exclaimed, as if he were truly heartbroken. It was typical that the older man couldn’t attend these last-minute gatherings. Sometimes the clinic stayed open late if there was an emergency and tonight was one of those nights.

“It’s okay. We can invite him next time,” Yuuri mused and sighed in relief when his friend finally released him. He stretched his arms above his head, emitting several popping sounds as he did so.

“You need to get a massage,” Phichit mused, “You should go see my friend again! He’s waiting for you and keeps asking about you.”

Yuuri made a face, to which Phichit only laughed.

“That’s because he wants to feel me up again under the towel,” he replied and glanced over at Guang-hong, “I’m going to close up if you’re done.”

“I just need to type up a few more notes,” the other man said, eyes focused on the computer screen as his fingers flew across the keyboard. Phichit stayed with him while Yuuri went back to his own desk.

He hung his coat on the wall and picked up his backpack, reaching over to turn off his laptop before making his way back to the front. He shut off all the lights as he went, opened all the doors so the rooms would air out, and didn’t glance twice into the room that had given him some grief earlier in the day. He didn’t even want to think about what was still tacked on the other side of the door.

Phichit was leaning across the counter when Yuuri stepped into the lobby area, pestering Guang-hong about the man who everyone insisted was his boyfriend. Not that it was a lie, but for some reason, Guang-hong got flustered whenever it was mentioned. They’d been dating for over a year and he’d been the one insistent on introducing the famous dancer to everyone, though he still blushed when Yuuri casually asked every morning how things were going with his live-in partner.

“Did he leave?” Phichit asked, “Call him to come out tonight!”

“He broke his leg! He needs to rest, especially because he was here today,” Guang-hong said with a pout. Clearly, he was upset that Leo couldn’t come along. They were always together in and out of the office, especially more often these days since Leo was injured and had time off from dancing.

“He can sit and just drink his pain away,” Phichit offered and looked up at Yuuri, as if expecting his agreement.

Yuuri sighed.

“He _should_ rest. He’ll never get better if we keep dragging him out around the city late at night.”

“All the better for Guang-hong! He can just baby him even more at home!”

The comment had the youngest in the room spluttering. He shut off the computer and shouldered his own bag before standing and trying his best not to make eye contact with anyone.

“I hardly baby him,” he grumbled, “At least, I don’t want to. He’s always the one crawling to me for—”

“So he _does_ crawl to you?"

“Phichit!”

* * *

The place Phichit chose was a restaurant on 11th Avenue that they frequented far too often. Yuuri preferred the smaller mom-and-pop shops in his neighborhood. Less people. Quieter music. Relaxing environment. Phichit wanted him to let loose though, especially considering what sort of day he’d had.

What a day indeed.

“So?” Phichit nonchalantly started after sipping his beer, “Did you feel the steel?”

“Can you please not focus on that right now?” Yuuri groaned, nursing his own glass, something fruity that had about three drops of alcohol in it. Juice, as Phichit liked to call it. Juice for a twenty-year old who was trying to be cool during his first time at a club.

“Shall we focus on your little apocalypse instead?" Phichit returned with a devilish smirk.

Across from him, Guang-hong made a face and hid it against the shoulder of his boyfriend. Leo had ended up coming out with Phichit’s insistent texting and a Snapchat video that directly called him out. He now put his arm around Guang-hong, squeezing his shoulder while simultaneously downing his rum and coke. He’d promised he hadn’t taken any medications beforehand and it was only going to be one drink for the night.

“Shouldn’t this be a little more...confidential?” Leo asked, voice of reason as always. Guang-hong and Yuuri nodded in answer, but Phichit kept speaking after placing another drink order, as if he hadn’t heard. He probably hadn’t. He rarely listened to rational talk.

“I wonder if he'll be able to hold up through another season,” he continued, as if talking to himself, “He keeps adding jumps to his programs. And annual injuries.”

“He’ll do fine,” Yuuri said, finishing his drink. Perhaps a little too quickly but he needed to get his mind off what had happened in his office earlier that day.

A split-second later, he slammed his forehead onto the table regardless and let out a muffled groan that was thankfully drowned out by the white tablecloth. Guang-hong reached around their artichoke dip and drinks to pat him sympathetically on the head.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, for the hundredth time that day, but Yuuri shook his head and lifted it up, sporting a red circle right between his brows.

“It’s not you. It’s me. I shouldn’t have pretended to not know him,” he reasoned and slumped in his seat. He didn’t notice the glass of wine Phichit had slid over in front of him. He just took it and chugged half of it down in one go.

“Here we go,” Leo whispered under his breath and Guang-hong elbowed him to be quiet.

If Yuuri needed a drink, he was going to get one. Or twelve. Hopefully not more than five, but Phichit was here and liked to feed his alcohol-hungry soul.

“I just don’t know what he’s going to think,” Yuuri said, burying his face in his hands.

The waiter came over once more, placing two orders of fish and chips in the center of the table, and Yuuri immediately shoveled several of the crispy fries into his mouth. He managed to drink and talk around another mouthful of wine while everyone else quietly munched and listened to his woes.

“Is he even coming back?” he asked, looking straight at Guang-hong, “Did he call and cancel? Did he leave a hate message?”

His receptionist shook his head frantically.

“His coach actually called an hour after they left, when you were with Leo,” he relayed, “He said that Mr. Nikiforov was feeling much better even with the pain from rehabilitation. And he would like to come in two days from now.”

Yuuri’s head almost hit the table again but Phichit caught it this time. He reached for the wine he’d ordered and refilled Yuuri’s glass, to which his friend thanked him before downing half of it once more. Phichit’s eyes widened and he subtly moved the bottle to his side of the table for now.

“I did warn you, _mi osito_ ,” Leo chided and Guang-hong did his own forehead thumping against the pointiest bit of his shoulder, “I tried to give him my room but you said no.”

“I didn’t want to rush you! You’re still getting used to the crutches,” Guang-hong countered.

He puffed out his cheeks and slumped back in his chair, grabbing his glass of ginger ale and sipping at it while Leo chuckled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders to pull him into a hug. While he peppered his face and neck in tiny kisses while whispering more endearments into his ear, Phichit turned his attention to Yuuri who’d gone back to lying his face on the table.

“Eat,” he said and nudged Yuuri’s head with one of the bowls of fried fish, “Soak up the wine a little.”

“I will soak up all the wine,” Yuuri said as he lifted his head and stabbed a piece of the fish with a fork. He picked up his wine glass and motioned for Phichit to refill it, which he did with some regret. Maybe he shouldn’t have ordered an entire bottle because if Yuuri was in the mood for drinking, he would down a glass that could contain the Hudson River.

“At least he’s coming back, and if he brings up the poster, you can just say it’s from a previous doctor?” he suggested.

Yuuri managed to eat the entire piece of fish, downed his wine, and held out his glass for more.

“And then I just pretend I don’t recognize him?” he suggested, eyelids drooping.

“The sleep before the nightmare,” Leo whispered and shifted when Guang-hong nudged him a little too hard in the ribs.

“Just pretend that he looked different? Or that you were trying to keep it professional!” Phichit said, “You said you wanted to keep professional integrity—!”

“You told me to fuck him!”

The other tables surrounding them paused in their conversations at Yuuri’s crude outburst. When he realized half the restaurant was staring, he downed his glass of wine, as if he could wash away their judgment. Phichit gave him a pat on the back as he slumped in his chair and finished off another piece of fish.

“Phichit,” Guang-hong said in a reprimanding tone, which came off as cute instead of scary. Regardless, cute Guang-hong was as scary as they came.

“It was a joke! At least I didn't scream it to the world,” Phichit reasoned and shoved fries into his own mouth. This night was definitely turning out as he expected, leaving him confused yet still entertained.

“Have some water,” Leo said to Yuuri and they all watched as he downed the entire glass before getting up and announcing he needed a toilet.

Phichit got up and followed him, to make sure he didn’t fall over onto someone else’s dining table like last time, and Guang-hong and Leo exchanged a look. This was definitely going to be a typical night out with Phichit and Yuuri. Almost as good as the old days, as long as Yuuri didn’t get them kicked out with his kleptomaniac tendencies.

Even though Yuuri had a morning appointment, he still insisted that they at least hit up one more bar. Guang-hong said that he wanted to take Leo home for the night, to which Phichit surprisingly agreed. The dancer looked exhausted after fighting an empty yet greasy fry basket out of Yuuri’s clutches when he tried to run out the restaurant door with it while Phichit settled the bill. He was probably aching in several new ways since he’d had to do the task on crutches.

They waited curbside as Guang-hong hailed a taxi, with Yuuri slumped against Phichit, their arms around one another, and Leo keeping his distance in case the physical therapist tried to launch a surprise attack on him after being denied the bowl. When the two were inside the car and waved their good nights, Phichit carefully walked his friend along the sidewalk, making sure neither of them were run over by the crowds of tourists and locals who’d also decided to stop by the popular neighborhood.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked, trying to remember a particular place in the area that Yuuri might like.

“The one with the drinks,” his friend chimed in, pushing himself out of Phichit’s arms so he could try to handle walking solo. It lasted a quarter of a block.

“Sure,” Phichit said and recalled a bar several blocks up. The walk might even help to sober up Yuuri.

When they reached their destination, Yuuri seemed more in control of his own body, though his face was flushed a deep red. The inside was crowded, typical considering it was drag night, and Phichit worried if maybe this wasn’t a good atmosphere for his friend in his time of need.

“You’re beautiful!” Yuuri screamed when several performers dressed as nuns took to the stage.

Or maybe this was an appropriate spot to end the night.

Someone tapped Phichit’s shoulder, offering him a seat at the counter, and he thanked the generous man before sitting his companion down onto the stool. He let out a gasp when he was yanked onto Yuuri’s lap and laughed when his friend complained about not having enough space.

“I want a drink,” Yuuri clamored right into his hair as the crowd applauded the lip-syncing group.

Phichit ordered orange juice for him, asking the bartender to water it down plenty, and Yuuri didn’t seem to question what it was. He simply downed half of it, one arm awkwardly holding Phichit atop his knees. Phichit decided on a beer, hardly tipsy since he’d only been able to drink two glasses at the restaurant, and when he turned to get it, he accidentally elbowed the man sitting beside him.

“Sorry,” he said as loud as he could and the man turned, offering a forgiving smile and shake of his head.

Phichit felt his heart catch beneath his tongue.

“Holy shit,” he hissed under his breath.

The blonde leaned closer, trying to catch what he’d said, and Phichit nudged Yuuri behind him 

“Holy shit it’s Christophe Giacometti!” he squealed.

The crowd cheered even louder when the nuns’ tore off their tunics.

* * *

Viktor groaned as he settled himself onto the couch in his hotel room. He was glad that he’d gotten a suite to give him space away from Yakov who always insisted on staying as close to his star skater as possible. His old coach had retired to his room the second they walked in, stating he was still dealing with jet lag even though they’d been in New York City for a week now. He was probably tired from following Viktor around, since he’d insisted on carrying out some shopping and eating at a restaurant he’d been dying to try out since they’d landed. Injured or not, Viktor was going to enjoy his mini-vacation. It was the only one he’d be getting for another year.

He shifted atop the donut pillow Yakov had picked up for him at a Duane Reade during his session with Dr. Katsuki, and he slid his phone from his coat pocket. He had yet to remove the outer layer, too lazy and still aching from today’s exercise. He opened his calendar and added a note for his upcoming session.

Yuuri sure was an interesting guy.

Viktor thought back to when he’d seen the poster on the door and how he’d asked the cute receptionist about a possible interest in figure skating. The young man stuttered a little as he explained he was only into tennis and dance, and Viktor didn’t want to pry further. Wouldn’t it be normal for a physical therapist’s office geared toward athletes to have posters of athletes? It was probably randomly chosen, which was why it had been put up in one of the small examination rooms and not in the hallway. Just some décor. No meaning behind it.

He sat back and checked the Russian news sources to see if there were any mentions of him other than his new gold medal. Thankfully, his injury was still unknown, which wasn’t that surprising since he only had Yakov with him and his coach would rather die before admitting his greatest pupil was recuperating from a horribly idiotic accident.

After checking all the major sites, he loaded Instagram, wondering how all the other skaters were faring after the end of another season. He’d posted pictures of the new watch he’d purchased this afternoon and several of his fellow competitors had joked about him downgrading to silver.

The feed loaded and he quietly scrolled through it, chuckling to himself when he saw some rather interesting photos in various countries. JJ had uploaded a video of his crowded return to his hometown and Viktor watched it before continuing through the spam of photos from Emil.

His thumb remained pressed to his screen when he was about to scroll past Chris’s latest picture, and he slowly lifted his finger, squinting at the people sitting beside his long-time friend and rival on the ice. They were obviously in a dim bar, but he could clearly make out all three faces that were bathed in an interesting pink light.

“NYC drag shows are wild! These cuties are wilder!” the caption beneath it read. 

“Holy shit,” Viktor whispered to himself.

It was Yuuri and that radiologist guy

* * *

“You’re a beautiful man,” Yuuri slurred to his new friend and tried to sit up on Phichit’s lap when he began sliding down again.

Somewhere in the last thirty minutes, they’d ended up switching positions on the stool. It could’ve been because the pretty man beside them had ordered them both some rather hard liquor even though Phichit had politely declined, and Yuuri had even more trouble keeping himself upright without being held like a ragdoll in his best friend’s arms.

“As are you,” Chris returned and glanced at Phichit, “And your boyfriend.” He winked.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Yuuri shouted. The crowd was shouting as well and they paused in their conversation of compliments to watch as a busty Madonna took to the stage.

“We’re usually friends,” Phichit said to Chris when the audience quieted down, “But he’s my boyfriend on nights like this.” He winked back.

Chris nodded with a smirk, as if the statement was some secret code he’d cracked, and he took a sip of his drink before leaning even closer. Yuuri’s glazed eyes remained focused on the lip-syncing dancer and he snapped out of the dazed stare to whistle along with everyone else when gloves and a corset started flying.

“I’m surprised someone recognizes me,” Chris said into Phichit’s ear, “Usually I’m a nobody in these kinds of places.”

“We’re fans. Of figure skating, and you,” Phichit said and tightened his hold on Yuuri when his friend tried to get up.

“I’m hot,” Yuuri whined, mouth dangerously close to Phichit’s, “Let me up. I need to breathe. Let me breathe!”

Phichit sighed and cautiously let go, grabbing onto Yuuri’s wrist when he tried to make a run for it. He knew exactly what Yuuri was going to try and do. There was only one thing that could stick to his former roommate’s mind that flashed haphazardly in his brain like the neon sign of a seedy night club when he was drunk and being pounded into by the heavy bass of sultry dance music.

“Nope! No stripping!” Phichit screamed and got up, settling Yuuri onto the stool and sitting on him to keep him in place.

Beside him, Chris let out a laugh and began unbuttoning his own shirt.

“Is it okay to strip?” he asked, “I love dancing!”

Several people around them were up and dancing, if not entirely making out with one another, and Phichit sighed while trying to keep his wiggling friend in place. 

“You can dance but please keep your clothes on,” he said, “Only the performers can get naked.”

Chris seemed to pout at that but got up anyway and started swinging his hips. This seemed to energize Yuuri who practically shoved Phichit to the floor before he latched onto Chris’ hips. The two began their drunken swaying, though Chris was hardly intoxicated. Phichit decided to just let it go and sat back down. After watching Yuuri twirl Chris before dipping him, he took out his phone.

As long as Yuuri’s pants stayed on, then there wouldn’t be an issue. He’d have to take video though, to remind his friend during moments of bleakness in the future that he’d gotten down on the dance floor with a famous figure skater. Somewhere in the next five minutes, Christophe handed him his own phone and told him to upload whatever he took to his Instagram.

* * *

Viktor stared at the photo of his shirtless friend grinding back against his equally shirtless physical therapist. The next photo was a badly framed selfie of the radiologist guy sandwiching Chris with Yuuri, followed by a video of Yuuri bent over with his own ass pressed against an unrecognizable person’s crotch. The guy was probably a total stranger but his facial expression proved him ecstatic as he pretended to spank Yuuri’s bouncing rear. There was no mistaking the dirty French streaming from his phone speakers uttered by a tipsy Chris. The hooting from off-camera was probably Yuuri’s companion, the X-ray guy.

Wild indeed.

Viktor felt a smile tickling the edge of his lips as his spirit was lifted. He ended up unable to hold back a stream of laughter as a new video was uploaded. Somehow, Yuuri and Chris had made it onto the stage with the drag performers. Typical of Chris. Viktor felt a bit envious that he couldn’t be out there having fun as well.

He saved the photos and videos to a special folder on his phone, a grin plastered across his face. He couldn’t wait for his next appointment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slides this chapter across cyberspace* I had to push myself hard to write this, so I'm sorry if it's horrible. I had to think about this a lot. Also, I'm back in school and work and my work is quite heavy (emotionally/mentally), so. Yeah. Sorry if the chapters come out later and later. Motivation is hard to come by these days.
> 
> Also, some of you are commenting about my tags. I don't pre-tag. It doesn't say Vikyuu? Because it doesn't exist. Yet(?)
> 
> Thank you to everyone dropping comments, kudos, bookmarks, and even reccing this fic to others. And thank you to those who take my BS research with a grain of salt(iness).

* * *

For some reason, Phichit’s mattress was the most comfortable thing Yuuri had ever slept on. When his friend had helped to move his bed back into his old room down the hall, he’d mentioned the need to care for one’s bones in all aspects of life. Yuuri found it comical as a physical therapist that his mattress provided less relief than his friend’s. Then again, Phichit appreciated bones a lot more than the average person. A _lot_ more.

Yuuri brought his friend’s duvet up around his shoulders and tucked a corner beneath his chin. Phichit had been using the same laundry detergent for the last five or six years and upon inhaling the familiar scent, he was swept into nostalgia.

He recalled walking into his old living room the spring semester of his junior year and seeing a young man sitting on his couch, a bag of chips on his lap and several boxes surrounding him on the floor. He waved a cheese powder-covered hand and introduced himself as Phichit, the freshman that the university-owned apartment thought would be an excellent match.

Prefers to stay indoors. Studious. Junior, senior, graduate student also okay. Not a party-goer, introverted, likes being quiet. Clean.

Phichit had turned out to be only one of those things. Studious, surprisingly, but only on the nights before an exam or when a ten-page paper was due. Yuuri still wasn’t sure whether the circumstances were fortunate or not, but he wouldn’t trade those years with Phichit. Not for anything.

After a year of living together in student housing, they’d chosen a smaller but cheaper apartment to live in. Yuuri still regretted moving out during the final year of his schooling. Last year had been hell.

“There’s honey. Do you want honey in your tea?” his friend, wearing the fuzzy pajamas Yuuri had given him this past Christmas, asked from the doorway. He had a mug in one hand, their university logo wrapped around it, and he held it up in question.

“It’s fine,” Yuuri said, voice husky with sleep, “Guang-hong just messaged me about my client. He moved it to the afternoon.”

“I told you he’s the sweetest little bear,” Phichit crooned and moved across the room to hand Yuuri the mug. He took a seat beside Yuuri sat half-buried beneath his bright green bedsheets.

Yuuri blew on the hot, yellow liquid in his cup, the steam fogging up his glasses. He focused on the scent of ginger and lemon and hoped the slamming of doors in his head would stop soon. Or was it the pounding of pots? He took a sip and grimaced when the heat stung his tongue.

“I can’t believe myself,” he whispered and lowered the mug to his lap. He stared at the pattern of smiling trees on Phichit’s duvet cover. The blushing apples hanging from the branches managed to bring him a muted sort of peace, almost drowning out the screaming in his head.

“I just poured that from the pot so be careful!” Phichit warned.

Yuuri chuckled and offered his roommate a fond smile. Leave it to Phichit to forget the more serious reasons as to why he might have heavy regrets before noon.

“Did we really meet Chris?” he whispered and groaned when Phichit immediately pulled out his phone once again. The second time too many today. Yuuri shut his eyes and braced himself for the Instagram spam from the previous night.

“I hope none of my clients see this,” he said and cleared his throat. Why was it hurting so much?

He winced when he heard himself shrieking through the speakers of Phichit’s phone.

Well.

“They’ll know you’re a fun kind of guy!” Phichit said with mirth dancing in his eyes, “And maybe you can dance with them as a form of rehabilitation!”

“That is _never_ going to happen,” Yuuri said, voice going raspy.

He tried sipping at his tea again. The heated liquid he managed to swallow soothed the sharp edges in his throat, but it was still too hot to chug. With some impatience, he reached around his friend to place the mug on the bedside table to give it more time to cool. He brought his knees to his chest and his eyes roamed along a bold, black outline of a tree. The video abruptly cut off and he watched as Phichit tossed the phone to the foot of the bed.

“It’s not like you were dancing _with_ a client,” Phichit said, trying to be more reassuring than humorous.

It made Yuuri feel worse because all his clients were athletes and at least one of them was into figure skating. Wait.

His forehead slammed onto his raised knees when he let his face fall forward, and he half-screamed, “Viktor knows!” before tugging harshly at his mussed hair.

“They’re friends and always comment on each other’s things and he probably saw it all and he knows!” he rambled on, voice fading with each syllable.

He shot up and scrambled to get his own phone from where he’d left it beneath one of Phichit’s many pillows, intending to tell Guang-hong to graciously but immediately cancel any future sessions with Viktor. There was no way he could continue seeing him after yesterday. Not only did he pretend to not know the guy, but he’d gotten drunk enough at a rowdy nightclub to do a striptease with his friend, another famous figure skater. His clients were athletes. People were going to see this and make assumptions and—

“I’m fucked! My license is going to get pulled,” Yuuri whined, face heating up and the rims of his eyes burning.

Phichit grabbed his phone and gave his cheek a firm pat. Not hard enough to make his skin red, but enough force to get Yuuri’s attention. It was the only sort of slapping that Phichit was capable of doing, what with his relatively easygoing attitude, and it was as harsh as a tap on the shoulder.

“Nobody is going to do that!” he scolded, “Like I said, you weren’t with a client! And anyway, it’s nobody’s business what you were doing in a club on your time off. You didn’t do anything wrong!”

Yuuri felt the frustration boiling and the moisture grouping in the corners of his eyes. His heart started to race and he gripped the thick duvet with shaking hands, hoping the sheet would soak up the clamminess of his palms.

“The entire world can clearly see that I’m an alcoholic—”

“You’re not an alcoholic, don’t say that—”

“I _clearly_ cannot control myself in the presence of an athlete who some people might think is my client—”

“But he isn’t! He’s just some guy and you were drunk and okay, yeah, he’s a bit famous, like, world-famous, shit, he’s sort of up there, but still—!”

“Oh my _god_!”

Yuuri pressed his face into his hands and screeched into the sweat of his palms. Phichit began shaking him at the shoulders to stop, screaming as well that he’d mess up his voice even more, and it only made Yuuri scream louder for a few more seconds before his own voice cut him off by disappearing almost entirely.

“Thank the gods we don’t have a neighbor on this side of the apartment,” Phichit nagged when Yuuri lost the will to injure his throat even more, “Are you done?”

“I’m moving back home,” Yuuri said in the smallest, raspiest whisper.

The hit to his cheek was the hardest Phichit had ever landed and Yuuri felt his eyes watering this time from the electrifying bite.

“You just moved back in with me and now you’re going to go home? After forcing yourself through a doctorate degree you sort of didn’t even want and then all those months of fighting with your parents about living it up in the big city? After negotiating with the archaic doctor guy for the shared office space? All that the previous year just to go home because you got a little too drunk and grinded on Christophe Giacometti?”

“Do you need to list all my failures out like that?” Yuuri whined.

“Yes! You’re being ridiculous!”

Phichit figuratively threw his hands up—it was just his eyes rolling up to glare at the ceiling—and let out a mixture of a groan and an exhale.

“Yuuri Katsuki! You did not go through all that stress last year and even lost weight from actually not consuming real, delicious food from said stress _just so_ you could go crawling back to your dinky hometown!”

“It’s not—”

“You are going to be fine! People are going to attack Chris more than anything, if there’s any attacking to be done. And there won’t be! You know how he is, he’s always doing stuff like this!”

“But I’m in it—”

“And me, too, and nobody has called either of us yet to fire us!”

“It’s only 10:30—”

“Can you just shut up? Drink your tea!”

Yuuri took the mug that was pushed back into his hands and with Phichit’s insistent glaring took a sip. The drink had cooled down significantly to a tolerable temperature and he chugged half of it, the soothing caress that cascaded down to his belly filling him with calm. Maybe Phichit had drugged his tea again.

“We’ll be fine! You’ll be okay! You’ll go to work later today and your client won’t know any of this exists because nobody watches figure skating anyway, much less the athletes—”

“Chris is world-famous—”

“Shut it and drink!”

Yuuri did as commanded and seconds later ended up spitting out his drink all over Phichit’s freshly washed sheets when a bubble of laughter overcame him. The front and sides of his brain still felt like they were being squeezed between the blades of rusty saws, but the sight of a grumbling, red-cheeked Phichit tore the giggles out of his sandpaper throat.

His friend glared at him but couldn’t hide his forgiving smile once he saw that Yuuri’s mood had developed for the better.

“Finish your tea, shower, and I’ll make you a proper breakfast before you leave for work,” Phichit said and picked up his phone to check the time.

Yuuri finished his cup and stretched out his legs. He bounced a little and decided he’d go out mattress shopping this weekend. A bed like this really did do wonders.

“Oh.”

Phichit’s soft voice cut through any remaining tension in the room and Yuuri looked over at his friend whose eyes were fixated on his phone.

“They're together right now,” Phichit said and held up the device.

* * *

 Viktor smiled across the small table at his friend who'd just snapped a photo of him sitting amongst an assortment of food.

"You look good for someone who busted his ass like a five-year old on the ice," Chris commented and set his phone on his lap.

"It takes years to achieve this look," Viktor said with a cheeky grin.

The hotel provided brunch until the early afternoon and Viktor was glad for it because he was in the mood for light breakfast food upon waking around 10:00 A.M. He didn’t want to scour the next few blocks in search of something that would satisfy his craving, and being provided a late breakfast also meant that Chris could join him after finally waking. Viktor had texted him after hauling his aching body in and out of the shower, but he hadn’t received a reply until a little before noon.

“This coffee is quite good,” Chris noted as he took a sip. He picked up the creamer and poured in a little more, sniffing at the light brown liquid and sighing in bliss.

“Hangover?” Viktor asked with a knowing smile while tearing apart a croissant.

“Never! I haven’t had one of those in years!”

They spread butter and jam on their bread and ate quietly, commenting on the softness and freshness. The texture was comforting after a wild night out or a boring night in.

"How is your ass, by the way?" Chris asked in a way that only he could.

"Hurts. Stairs are the worst," Viktor replied and his mind drifted to the events from the previous day, "I'm seeing a physical therapist while I'm here. Most fun on a vacation I've had."

He wasn't being ironic but Chris was not yet fully awake to take the hint.

"And how was that?" the other man continued, "Did a wrinkly grandpa feel you up again?"

Viktor shuddered at the memory. There was a reason he was wary of seeing doctors and the like when overseas.

"Thank god, no."

He thought about Dr. Katsuki. Yuuri. His stuttering. The shaking in his hands as he gently moved Viktor's legs in the most painful of positions or when he kneaded warmth into his strained thigh muscles. Dr. Yuuri Katsuki with the glasses that would't stop sliding down his nose. Yuuri with that poster tucked away in one of the exam rooms.

Yuuri tearing off the shirt Viktor had seen him wearing during their session and placing his glasses atop his head like a pair of sunglasses when they started falling off due to his jerking dance moves.

“I wish you'd been there last night!” Chris said as he lifted a forkful of egg to his mouth, “The dancers were so beautiful and the music made me want to move all night.”

“I would’ve just ended up sitting in a chair on this donut the whole time,” Viktor said with remorse. He shifted atop the raised cushion. It was comfortable but had no place in a night club, especially one with crossdressing, lip-syncing strippers.

“I still can’t believe you injured yourself right after winning gold,” Chris said, chuckling. His eyes twinkled with mirth. Viktor couldn’t help but smile in return.

“It’s nothing serious. I’ll be back on the ice in a few weeks,” he reassured though it was more for himself. Knowing his knee and knowing Yakov, that might not necessarily be the case.

His coach had been the one to open the door to Chris’s tired yet cheerful face and he’d ranted to Viktor for several minutes about privacy. Viktor had reassured the old man that Chris would say nothing about the injury and had even sworn an oath in God’s name. Yakov had grumbled something under his breath about Viktor not being devout since he’d won Juniors and made his way out. He was probably sightseeing. Contrary to what some might think of the creaky old man, Yakov had a soft spot for tourist attractions and the arts. He was probably on one of those hideous double-decker tour buses with an intended museum stop.

Chris released a long, disappointed sigh, drawing Viktor from his musings.

“We were supposed to dance until morning and hook up with some cute American boys,” he whined, “And there were two really cute ones last night!”

He pulled out his phone and Viktor braced himself. He already knew _who_ Chris was referring to but he kept quiet. How exactly was he supposed to break it to his long-time friend and rival that the cute, American boys he’d gotten drunk with last night were the radiologist and physical therapist he’d met the previous few days?

Chris scooted over in his chair, leaned against Viktor so their shoulders touched, and pulled up his photo album. Viktor hid a smile behind a piece of strawberry when he saw Yuuri piggybacking someone on stage while swinging a shirt over his head like a lasso.

“Wow.”

“Wow, indeed! He was such fun! And his little friend was so kind to take all these wonderful photos for me!”

Chris swiped to another picture that showed Yuuri with his arm thrown around the shoulders of—ah, yes, that little friend. The radiologist.

“What was his name?” he whispered under his breath to himself.

“I don’t even remember,” Chris answered, not seeming to notice or care that Viktor sounded interested enough to know someone’s name for once, “But he was extremely adorable when his other friend started getting money from the audience. Panicking and handing back all those bills. I would’ve kept the cash!”

They laughed, though Viktor sensed he was doing it for a different reason than Chris. He could hardly imagine quiet, stuttering Dr. Katsuki throwing off his clothes and putting on a show in a rowdy bar on drag night. If only he’d been there to see it. He had videos now thanks to Instagram, but nothing could ever beat a live experience.

“After we danced and all that money got returned—oh, his name was Phichit, I remember now—we ended up getting pulled off stage and someone told us to leave. Said we were getting too much attention, can you believe it?” Chris scoffed. He pulled up a final photo that had him and Yuuri kissing either side of a blushing Phichit’s face.

Viktor was surprised Chris could remember that much of last night because he tended to lose his memories the more he danced. It wasn’t alcohol that did the trick. It was heavy bass and throwing clothes to a cheering crowd that made Chris forget names, places, and faces. Or maybe he was too occupied with pleasing the audience that he simply couldn’t recall anything important. Somehow, last night had been an exception. Perhaps alcohol did the opposite for Chris what it did for any other ordinary person, and the more he chugged, the more heightened his ability to retain information.

“Seems like a wild night,” Viktor murmured and Chris hummed in agreement before setting his phone down on the table.

He went back to eating but Viktor found his mouth too dry to swallow. He picked up his glass of water and sipped at it.

“I put up so many videos on Instagram. Well, the little friend did since I gave him my phone,” Chris said.

“I saw them,” Viktor said and smiled around the rim of his cup.

Yuuri stripping with Chris. Yuuri dry humping a bouncer. Phichit trying to pull Yuuri away from a sloppy make out session with one of the nuns. Other things that Viktor felt were a dream because he simply couldn’t imagine the physical therapist engaging in any of it. He was a creative genius, a true artist, but some things simply couldn’t be conjured into his wildest daydreams. And this one won the world award for its level of disorder.

“Alcohol sure is powerful,” he commented as he placed his water down and stuffed a few grapes into his mouth. He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face.

“I only gave him one drink but I think he was already a bit wasted before that,” Chris said, “Alcohol just brings out the sleeping demons. He’s probably that level of fun all the time! Too bad I didn’t catch their numbers because I could definitely hang out with those animals another time.”

Viktor coughed around a grape and reached for his coffee. As he cleared his throat, he thought about how he could bring up the fact that he knew the identity of the party boys. He knew their numbers as well. Work numbers. And there was also that appointment scheduled for tomorrow with the one who’d decided to get naked with Chris.

“The funniest thing is that they knew who I was,” Chris mused as he continued eating, “The little guy, Phichit, was shocked about me being _the_ Christophe Giacometti! I don’t think that’s ever happened! It was so exciting! I’m like a celebrity or something.”

Viktor could sympathize. On the ice or at a rink, people recognized and cheered for him, but outside at a café or while shopping, the reaction was less common. It happened but not too often, especially since the only leisure time he had off the ice was the few days he spent in another country right before and after a competition. Like right now. Most everyday people outside of Russia didn’t recognize him that easily, and the ones who did were probably the people who stalked him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been recognized in a bar like that,” Viktor noted, “You’ve got fans everywhere.”

“They were _your_ fans, too,” Chris scoffed. He shoved a tomato into his mouth which probably prevented him from complaining, not that he had anything to criticize. In the world of figure skating, everyone chose to be a Viktor fan or a Chris fan, regardless of any other skaters they might so happen to support.

Viktor watched as Chris gulped down his coffee and poured himself another cup. Oh, it was coming!

“The little one said, ‘This is my friend Yuuri and he likes Viktor but he likes you sometimes!’ I was only a little offended by that. Sometimes? What is sometimes?”

The strawberry Viktor had been about to pop into his mouth rested lightly on his bottom lip as his mind slowed to a halt.

“They said something about meeting you properly,” Chris continued, “I wonder if they came to Worlds. Did you shun some fans again?”

Viktor ground his teeth into the fruit and sucked up the juice that almost slipped down his chin.

“I never shun any of my fans. They’re all treated with respect and given due attention,” he said, as if rehearsing for an interview, “Chris—”

“Then the friend, the Yuuri one, he said, ‘Viktor would never want to dance with me like this after all I’ve done!’—this was when we were first taking our shirts off—and I laughed and told him he had no idea what he was talking about and to wait to meet you because the Viktor I know would gladly throw his clothes off in public!”

Chris was smiling as he said this, the pout from seconds before already gone. He sipped at his coffee before sliding his fork into a sausage. He bit half of it off and chewed loudly, opening his mouth when it was still full. He had so much more he needed to say, however, Viktor felt it necessary to cut him off at this point.

“Maybe he already met me and was feeling some regret,” he mumbled and glanced up through his bangs at Chris. Take the hint. Please.

The other man’s chewing slowed, his brows furrowing, head tilting, his mind digesting the words.

“So, he _was_ a fan you shunned?” he asked tentatively and ate the other half of the sausage.

Viktor could see the clockwork behind Chris’s eyes as he tried to wrap his mind around what was being said. He was usually quick about these sorts of things, but his mind could still be heavily focused on wrestling the last remnants of alcohol out of his blood. Viktor didn’t even know what time Chris had slept. The last photo from his night out had been uploaded around 4:00 A.M.

“Fan, yes. Shunned, most certainly not,” Viktor contended.

He might’ve been a diva on the ice but he was nice to the people who supported him in his career. Chris should’ve known this by now and understood it better than anyone else. After all, he was the only former fan that Viktor had befriended.

“Was he a fan that shunned _you_?” Chris asked, eyes looking at a far-off corner of the ceiling while he tried to process what Viktor was hinting at.

Almost there. Almost.

"He most certainly wasn't a wrinkly grandpa," Viktor teased and Chris's chewing stopped entirely.

With a playful smile, Viktor cleared his throat, then glanced down at his left knee and did a small nodding motion toward it before his eyes flickered back up to make contact. Chris swallowed his food and Viktor followed the lump in his throat as it slipped past the curls of hair under his chin, bobbed his Adam’s apple, and disappeared somewhere below his lungs.

He cracked a smirk when Chris’s jaw fell slack.

“Shit.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lying ded on my face*
> 
> Thank you for the comments, kudos, bookmarks, and recs for the last chapter. Hell, the entire fic. And thank you for your patience, everyone. I've had a terrible last few decades since chapter 4. Ugh. P-please enjoy.....
> 
> Also, I went ahead and just added the Yuuri/Viktor tag bc people are SO worried it's not gonna happen.

The weather was a tad warmer on the day of Viktor’s second appointment with his physical therapist and his level of mobility had increased. Stairs were still a bit troublesome to climb and he tried his best not to drop anything so he wouldn’t have to bend over to pick it up, but at least his fourth night of sleep after the accident was peaceful. No groggy shifting after a twinge of pain woke him. He still couldn’t lie straight on his back though and had propped a pillow behind him so he wouldn’t roll backwards and risk losing slumber.

Yakov opened up the heavy door to the private clinic and Viktor stepped in, noticing that the waiting area was empty again save for the receptionist typing away behind the desk. Viktor smiled when he recognized the young man from last time. Guang-hong, was it?

The clacking of the keyboard stopped and large, brown eyes peeked up at Viktor over the counter.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t hear the door open,” Guang-hong said and started rummaging around through several folders as the athlete made his way over, “Dr. Katsuki is waiting for you so you can go ahead and change in the back room.”

He stood to show the way and paused when Viktor removed his trench coat, revealing a long-sleeve, V-neck underneath. He handed the coat to Yakov as well as his bag.

“I didn’t bring any shorts with me on this trip, unfortunately, and I know it’d be easier for Dr. Katsuki if I had a pair, so could I borrow some again? My apologies,” Viktor said with an eased smile.

“Sure, let me show you to the room first,” Guang-hong said, stumbling over the last word when Viktor walked right past him down the hallway.

“I know where it is, no worries,” he said and made his way into the first room on the left. _That_ room.

He took a step inside and turned to Guang-hong, his expression relaxed and pleasant. He didn’t miss the stunned, squirrel-in-headlights expression from the much smaller young man.

“Okay, um, I’ll just, hold on,” the small receptionist said and disappeared somewhere down the hallways. When he returned, he quickly handed over the folded clothing, eyes downcast as he stuttered, “Is this room really okay for you?”

“Not a problem!” Viktor reassured and nodded his thanks before swinging the door closed, cutting Guang-hong off from saying much more. He knew the reason for caution but there was no need to keep on playing pretend.

When the door clicked with a shut, Viktor was face-to-face with his own photo. He studied it quietly for a few seconds, hand still on the knob, borrowed shorts dangling from a loose grip. He remembered the choreography to this program, remembered how relieved he felt during this exhibition after barely making gold. Usually, he ended up leagues ahead of the other competitors. Not that year, however. He’d been struggling with personal issues that should’ve never bothered him in the first place, and during his preliminary events, he thought he’d never be good enough to make podium at the Grand Prix Finals.

But he’d done it again. A fourth consecutive gold medal to tuck away into his closet. And then he’d beaten himself up the following summer. He’d made sure that nothing would ever threaten his chances like that again. Made sure that nothing could keep him from not only winning, but getting so far ahead that no one else could even dream of getting within twenty points of him.

His hard work and endless nights of tending to past injuries had paid off. Nobody, not even Chris, had gotten within thirty points of him this year. In his opinion, Worlds hadn’t been such a success with widening the gap, fifth consecutive gold medal notwithstanding, but he’d decided far ahead of time that the GPF was where he needed to earn his redemption.

All that stress was gone now. Amazing how one picture easily brought to surface several negative, conflicting feelings. He almost wanted to tear the poster down but this wasn’t his office.

Viktor shook the thoughts from his mind as he changed his bottoms, folded up his pants and left them on a chair, then made his way to the workout space. He didn’t bother giving his past self another glance.

Yuuri was sitting at his desk, typing something on his laptop like he’d been doing last time. He glanced up when Viktor walked into the spacious room and his eyes widened before he stammered a, “Good morning, Mr. Nikiforov.”

“Viktor,” he corrected with a charming smile, “Hello again, Yuuri.”

He watched as Yuuri pushed up his glasses. It meant so much more than it had two days ago during their initial session.

“Right. Viktor. Um, give me a moment. Please,” the young physician said before clicking away on his mouse a few more times, “Have a seat. Anywhere.”

Viktor was already making his way over to the desk and sitting down across from the doctor. He wished he could cross his legs but knew the strain would be too much for him to handle, so he simply folded his hands on his lap and leaned forward to relieve pressure from his tailbone. Waiting and watching.

He studied Yuuri’s expression. The knitted brows that actually appeared well-groomed upon inspection. The slight dimple in his left cheek that deepened with his concentration. His cheeks were so smooth and a bit round and he didn’t appear to have any stubble or sign of hair growth on his chin or upper lip.

How old was this guy and could this baby-faced man be the same one catching thousands of likes on Chris’s Instagram?

“You look young to be a doctor,” Viktor mused, and Yuuri’s eyes—brown with a hint of wine—glanced up at him, brows raising.

Eyes widening. Lips parting. Surprise.

“I just finished my degree,” he said, and then the focus was back on the laptop. A few more clicks. One blink. Then he stood. He wasn’t wearing his white coat today and it wasn’t hanging anywhere on the wall.

“Let’s start,” Yuuri said as he rolled his chair over to the center of the room, similar as last time. He took a seat and waited for Viktor to stand and follow, eyes narrowing and focused on his legs. He was studying his movements.

“You’re still favoring your right leg quite a bit. How were the exercises I had you try at home, well, your hotel?”

When Viktor came to a stop in front of him, Yuuri quietly excused himself before settling his hands on the skater’s waist. His fingers kneaded softly into Viktor’s muscles, moving downward. Once they reached his legs, they both shifted to wrap around his left thigh.

“I did them several times in the day, same as I do if I’m back home,” Viktor said, eyes focused on the far wall, “I’m feeling much better than when I first took my X-rays—”

“—That was a day after the accident."

“Yes. Right after. I still can’t really balance on one leg, especially the left. But it’s not too painful to sleep.”

He winced when Yuuri’s fingers dug rather deep into the back of his left thigh. Yuuri cleared his throat and offered a soft apology, hands trailing lower to wrap delicately around Viktor’s knee.

“Are you icing? Pain meds?”

Yuuri squeezed a bit too hard behind Viktor’s knee, making him flinch and instinctively try to pull away.

“Sorry! Okay, I’ll stay away from it. Maybe next week we’ll try again.”

Viktor exhaled and offered a forgiving smile, though Yuuri missed it since his eyes were still downcast. So, there was a next time.

“I don’t like taking medication unless it’s really dire. I like to know how well my body is healing,” Viktor said. Yakov, for once, had urged him to take something but he’d refused. This was nothing serious.

“That’s fine, but you shouldn’t have to struggle so much with the pain if you don’t have to,” Yuuri said and motioned for Viktor to turn around.

Viktor slowly spun in place and stared out the window, over the tops of the neighboring high-rise buildings. Maybe after this, he and Yakov could have lunch at an outdoor restaurant or even at a park. It was too nice a day to be sitting on a donut pillow, flipping through television channels with boring daytime talk shows.

“Season is over anyway. This will just force me to relax, though not quite in the way that I’d planned,” he said with a dry chuckle.

One hand steadied him at the hip while the other moved down to press along his lower back, fingertips kneading against his spine. He breathed deeply and held back on vocalizing his hurt when Yuuri’s hand went lower. A sole finger slid right against his tailbone and pressed upwards, making him jolt.

“Sorry, just testing. And I’m sorry to hear about that. Your plans. Your, um, vacation. Yeah. Hope you didn’t have anything amazing laid out,” Yuuri said from behind him.

“Nothing I haven’t done before. Just some dancing with a friend. Bar hopping,” Viktor bit back a smile as a memory from Chris’s photo gallery resurfaced, “Checking out the drag scene. In America, they are so extravagant and detailed.”

He jumped when Yuuri rubbed a bit too hard against his bruised bone.

“...Drag?”

Viktor could almost feel him push his glasses back up his nose bridge.

“Yeah, drag. You know. Men in pretty clothes. Beautiful makeup. It’s so lively here in NYC! I love coming when the opportunity arises.”

The clearing of a throat.

“One of my friends got to catch a really good show the other night and showed me all sorts of scandalous photos,” he continued, feeling more mischievous than usual, “You said you don’t watch skating but maybe you’ve heard of him. Christophe Giacometti?”

The hands that had moved to his waist hovered for several seconds, the silence in the air thick with foreboding. Viktor felt a shifting behind him and glanced over his shoulder, the smile dropping from his face when he saw the sheer panic on Yuuri’s reddened face. Eyes blown, mouth opening and closing as it tried to catch and hold onto words. Sounds. Yuuri even looked like he was about to cry and Viktor felt a pang of guilt at bringing up his knowledge of the other night in such a way.

“I didn’t—”

“I’m so sorry!”

Yuuri wheeled backwards on his chair, hands fisted on his lap, eyes downcast. Trembling.

“I apologize, greatly am very sorry for lying to you, Viktor! Mr. Nikiforov!”

Viktor turned and raised his hands to his chest to show that he found no fault in the situation.

“It’s perfectly fine, Yuuri. I was only making a joke,” he reassured.

Somehow, that only made the situation worst.

“I lied to you about knowing who you are and this was all set up wrong in the first place,” Yuuri blurted rapidly, hands shaking as they gripped his knees, “I promise you that I’m not some creepy fan trying to pretend you’re a nobody so I can get close to you! I swear it’s not like that.”

“It’s really okay,” Viktor said and stepped a little closer, hands out as if ready to catch Yuuri who looked ready to bolt, “I’m glad you didn’t jump on me out of excitement the moment you saw me and chose instead to do the opposite and just ignored me completely!"

Yuuri groaned loudly, bowing further in his seat at Viktor’s words. Unfortunately, that had also been the wrong thing to say.

“I shouldn’t have ignored you, especially when your face is on one of the rooms down the hallway!” he countered, voice going high, raspy, strained, “I should’ve just greeted you normally and not been so weird about it. I made it so awkward and I really understand if you don’t want to come here anymore. I can refer you to another PT for the rest of your stay in America.”

Yuuri tried to get up but Viktor put his hands on the man’s shoulders and sat him back down. Firmly but gently. Even though it hurt, he bent over a little so he could force some eye contact, but the young doctor was still staring at the new wrinkles in his pants.

“That really won’t be necessary. I find you to be a respectful doctor who doesn’t treat me like cattle. You didn’t make fun of me, a competitive athlete, for hurting myself in such a stupid manner. And the time I spend with you here in your office is comfortable and healing. You could very well be one of the best physical therapists I’ve ever had the honor of having in my entire career.”

These words, Viktor had hoped, were supposed to be comforting. Seconds later, Yuuri slipped out of his grasp and rushed off to lock himself away inside the bathroom. Viktor stood there, at a loss for words, and then sighed before taking a seat on Yuuri’s chair. He dropped himself onto the cushions and cursed at the pain and his idiocy. 

* * *

                                           // I can’t breathe //

// Tell me how I’m

supposed to breathe with

no air //

                                           // PLASE STAH //

// what’s up homeboy? //

                                           // He brought it up

                                               All on his own the

                                               Tthing with Chris and

                                               I flipped out on him

                                               But he said all these nice

                                               Things and I can’t even

                                               Bury me please //

// No can do friend

I don’t bury my fam BUT

I can tell you that you

Should probably stop

Hiding in your bathroom

Because I know that’s

Where you are and you

Just need to tell this dude

Look man you’re hot I’m hot

Let’s do this //

                                           // WTF //

// ok sorry not sorry

Srsly tho man just go

Out there and relaaaax //

                                           // I should tell him to go //

// ok so now I’ll gladly

Bury you no problem man //

                                           // WHY //

// just go out there and

Be normal because now he

Knows what you know and

So whatareugonnado huh //

                                           // I feel so stupid //

// RELAX my fam

RELAAAAX //

* * *

Viktor kept his eyes closed and breathed slow and deep as he did his set of clamshell stretches. His right thigh was fine with the movement though he could practically feel where his tailbone was located as it was put through moderate strain. He held the open-leg posture for several unhurried seconds before shutting his legs and repeating the action, focusing his attention on his muscles, the twinges, the sharp burn.

“When you’re done, please sit up with your legs stretched out,” Yuuri called to him from his desk.

Viktor hummed his response, listening to the steady tapping of the other’s fingers flying across his laptop keyboard. It was soothing white noise since Yuuri wasn’t the type of PT to play any music in the background and Viktor hadn’t thought to bring his phone back here with him so he could listen to something during his mini exercises.

His eyes remained shut as he recalled the events of the last hour. Eventually, Yuuri had come out of the bathroom looking exhausted. Thankfully, he’d calmed down a considerable amount and hadn’t asked Viktor to leave, which would’ve been quite rude since the session had already been paid for and Viktor had already made up his mind about staying. Nothing bad had even happened between them. He still couldn’t understand what all the fuss had been about.

Yuuri had simply apologized one last time and asked Viktor if he wanted to continue the session. The answer had been obvious. Of course. Without question. No hesitation. Yuuri then went on to say how embarrassed he was about the thing with Chris, to which Viktor laughed and thanked him in return for giving his best friend such a fun time.

“If only I’d been feeling well enough to tag along with him,” Viktor had said and Yuuri’s cheeks had turned a deep pink while he cleared his throat and pushed up his glasses. A triple combo that Viktor played over and over in his mind to get through the next twenty minutes of pain.

The conversation that had occurred the rest of the time hadn’t been anything special. Viktor had a feeling the proper word to describe the atmosphere was awkward, but he could definitely say that the environment was still one of the most comfortable he’d ever been in with regards to a doctor’s office.

Yuuri had put his body through a bit of hell by making Viktor do stretches and simple movements that would probably leave his lower back and leg throbbing the rest of the day. He’d needed to take a break, feeling like his right leg was going to cramp with all the imbalanced effort he put into keeping unnecessary pressure off his left. Yuuri had told him not to favor it too much, to let it ache a little, and maybe it was because he was already off-season at this point or because the pain was more unbearable than usual, but Viktor couldn’t help but resist Yuuri’s challenge.

After all his clamshells were complete, he carefully pushed himself to sit up, which required him to roll into a ball on his side, maneuver himself upwards onto one hip, and then sit back a little on a place that wasn’t his tail bone. He stretched his legs out in front of him, wincing at the pain that jolted up his spine from the movements. He could do it. Mind over matter.

“Are you able to touch your toes?” Yuuri asked as he got up from his computer and walked over to the massage table, “Show me how far you can stretch.”

When he was in tip-top shape, he could practically kiss his knees while lazily wrapping his fingers around the balls of his feet. When he was a teenager, he’d been able to flop forward with his head between his legs, body completely relaxed of tension. Now, he could barely get his nails to scrape at his ankles. How useless.

“I’m going to give you a bit of a push from behind,” Yuuri explained and he settled his hands against Viktor’s shoulder blades.

A slight pressure on his back had Viktor hissing as his left knee protested and his tailbone whined for relief. Yuuri immediately stopped and allowed Viktor to sit back.

“Much better than I’d expected,” Yuuri noted and began to gently massage beneath Viktor’s thigh, where the pain was still a moderately burning sensation.

Yuuri’s touch had Viktor leaning back on his elbows as best he could without grinding his injured backside into the cushion of the massage table.

“Okay, I’ll give you a hot compress and then ice you afterwards. Lie on your stomach again and just relax.”

Viktor grunted as he pulled his body piece-by-piece into the proper position. By the time his grimacing expression was settled into the face hole, his whole body went completely lax and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to get up again. If only he could sleep here, but he was sure Yuuri had other appointments to attend to after seeing him.

The back of his shirt was rolled up and he made appreciative noses as a weighted warmth was settled on his back and thigh. His eyes slid shut as the sensation spread into his sore body.

“I’ll just have you stay like this for ten minutes and then switch for ice,” Yuuri said somewhere in the haze of his conscious.

Viktor wasn’t sure when he drifted off to sleep, but he ended up waking with a slightly cool feeling leaving his skin. He groaned and pushed his head up, blinking himself into full consciousness.

Yuuri was talking and he turned his bleary gaze onto the doctor with a mumbled, “What?”

“Oh! I didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep through all of that. I was letting you know that you’re done for today.”

Viktor yawned, nodded, and shifted into a sitting position. He inhaled deeply as he pushed up onto his knees, slid his legs under himself, and then hauled them over the edge of the massage table. He thanked Yuuri who’d pushed the stepping stool beneath his dangling feet.

“When should I come again? Another two days? Three?” Viktor asked as he hopped down onto the floor. His legs felt like jelly but he’d fight his hardest for that outdoor lunch. He deserved as much time as he wanted in the nice weather after today.

He watched as Yuuri’s face lit up in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected the question. A smile played on Viktor’s lips.

“I told you already, I like coming here and I’m not about to switch to a new doctor,” he reiterated.

Yuuri shut his mouth that had been hanging open the last few seconds and nodded before pushing up his glasses. His head was bowed and when Viktor leaned down to try and force eye contact again, he looked up this time, albeit with a slightly frantic look. Or maybe that was his normal expression.

“Three days is good,” Yuuri said. Quiet but at least there was no sign of stress in his voice.

“Really? You don’t want to see me in two?” Viktor half-joked.

“If you need to come in after two days, that’s fine as well,” Yuuri speedily suggested, “It’s really up to you. I want you to be well enough to take the long flight back home to Russia.”

A chuckle escaped Viktor. He liked how flustered Yuuri got over the simplest of teasing. At least he knew the reason for it now, though he’d have to hold back on the bullying. He didn’t want to get kicked out because his PT simply couldn’t handle the constant jabbing at his embarrassment and their peculiar situation.

“It’s not like I have anything else planned,” he said with a shrug, “I’ll figure it out with…Guang-hong, was it? Thanks again, Yuuri! I’ll tell Chris you send your regards.”

Viktor offered a wink and his mouth broke into a wide grin when Yuuri looked about ready to flail his arms in bewilderment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I did it. I bounced back after 4 months of not even thinking about this fic (T_T) 
> 
> Hello all you people who've been waiting! Sorry! I have so many excuses but I won't mention them. Here it is, chapter 6. My goodness. Thank you to those who cheered me on these last 4 months. Ahh, so blessed to have you (T_T)
> 
> Please drop a comment if you can, kudos if you haven't. Catch me on twitter (@ pickledbrows) if you like since I don't hang out on Tumblr much anymore. Ahhhh. I love you all <3

* * *

Viktor felt sore the first day after his second appointment with Yuuri, but somewhere between dinner and his evening soak, he noticed a slight increase of mobility in his left leg. He wasn’t anywhere near his regular level of flexibility, not even close to his non-performing ability, but he was at least able to bend and flex with less strain. He became so excited over this discovery that he ended up almost reinjuring himself when he twirled into the living room, clad in a bathrobe, and stumbled over an ottoman.

Yakov shrieked the usual lecture, throwing in an extra talk about how Viktor needed to return to Russia without the hint of a limp so that the media would believe the cover-up story about his lengthened vacation in America after winning gold. Viktor’s listening ear was wide open the entire time before he countered with his surprise plan of making the cover-up a reality. 

“You can fly back to Russia to continue training the others and I’ll stay here until I fully recover!” he’d said with a cheerful smile, “I get to have the vacation I’ve needed after a hard season, and you get to have a vacation…from me!”

If it was possible to insult oneself, Viktor never knew of such a thing.

The disclosure of his plan resulted in the typical back-and-forth bantering about Viktor having no respect for his coach or his sport and Yakov being too pent up so early during off-season and needing to relax more at his tender age. Eventually, there was a ceasefire, or so Yakov liked to believe. In Viktor’s mind, there was a set itinerary of how he’d spend another week or two in New York City. Not nearly enough time for a full recovery, to be honest, but he’d take whatever freedom he could get.

“I wanted to have a vacation and time-off for an injury doesn’t count as a break!” he chimed to Yakov who grumbled his way to his room in the suite.

Viktor spent a good portion of his triumphant night with a bottle of wine to himself and playful text exchanging with Christophe who’d found yet another fun club. No cheeky radiologist or bashful doctor, though.

When he woke the next mornig, Yakov was hurriedly speaking on the phone over his one-man breakfast, something about training schedules and flight paths. Viktor smiled to himself as he poured himself the coffee his coach had made—enough just for Yakov, for which he received a dark stare—and texted Christophe to meet with him later tonight. He was feeling good enough to eat out and definitely deserved a proper meal in a proper restaurant with a better selection of wine.

First on today’s agenda was an appointment with his physical therapist. Yuuri had asked for him to come in after three days, but Viktor decided that if he was going to recover quickly, he’d need to go in as soon as possible. Unfortunately, yesterday was fully booked, but the little receptionist in Yuuri’s office had found an opening today “just for Viktor.”

How kind of him.

“I will see the therapist today,” Viktor told Yakov once his coach hung up.

“Good. See him every day if you can so you can be home within the week,” he huffed.

Viktor simply hummed and stole a bread roll from Yakov’s plate before making his way to the bathroom. Yakov’s annoyed growling of his name put a nice pop in his step.

When he was clean and dressed, he shouldered his bag and blocked Yakov from the room doorway. He assured his coach he’d be fine on his own. No, a taxi would not be needed. Yes, he could navigate the subways.

“I’ve been to this city so many times, Yakov! You can’t say you’re in New York City if you don’t become one with its metro!”

“And how many times have you hobbled along in this city on an injured leg and stiff back?”

“There’s always a first for everything! I can read English and from here to the doctor is not so far. Look, Google will guide me!”

He showed the screenshot he’d taken on his phone for which trains to catch to get to Yuuri’s office. Yakov leaned in to have a look, crossed his arms, and scoffed before turning away. Viktor reached out to pat his shoulder.

“Enjoy the theatre for me. Perhaps I will go see a show later, when I can actually sit for longer than twenty minutes,” he said and gave a wave before stepping out.

* * *

 

The subway was not difficult to ride, obviously. It wasn’t so busy this time of day, which meant Viktor had a hard, plastic seat available on both trains. It was walking up and down flights of stairs and along slightly steep underground walkways that put a sharp pressure on his back and leg. He’d spent a good twenty seconds deciding whether he should take the elevator up to street level or wait for the rush of people to slow before bumbling along the narrow stairs.

He challenged himself with the climb, arguing that he had time until his appointment anyway, and felt low on energy once he reached the sidewalk, needing to pause in front of the building entrance so he could steady his breathing. When he made his way in, the guard greeted him with warm recognition, and he felt a bit of a boost. Only three encounters and the man already recognized him. Viktor bothered to give him a smile.

The lobby for Yuuri’s office was empty. Viktor peeked over the high counter and was met with an empty seat, void of the small, freckled receptionist that he’d grown accustomed to seeing. He listened quietly for any movement or sound coming from down the hallway, then glanced around for a bell of some sort to signal his arrival. Nothing. This was no deli, after all.

He made his way down the familiar hallway and glanced down the corridor to where Yuuri’s workspace was stationed. He heard voices coming from the sunlit room and called out a firm greeting.

After some shuffling, he heard Guang Hong squeak out, “Coming!” before popping into view.

“Hi!” Viktor greeted as Guang Hong zoomed along past him and back to his desk.

“Sorry, Mr. Nikiforov! I had to talk with Yuu—Dr. Katsuki and I lost the time! 

The younger man looked flustered, his freckles illuminated by the blush on his face, and he stumbled over his chair as he tried to climb over it instead of turning it in his direction before taking a seat.

After a few clicks with his computer mouse, he turned to Viktor and gave a small ‘okay’ sign with his hand.

“You’re good to go!” he said and Viktor gave his thanks before heading off to change.

He’d brought a hanger for his clothes this time and took a moment to fold his pants neatly with his shirt wrapped around it. He tugged his trainers on, tying them loosely since he couldn’t stay bent over for too long, then made his way to Yuuri’s corner of the office.

“Good morning, Yuuri!” he greeted and gave a small wave to the man seated at the desk.

Did he spend his patient-free time sitting at his computer? Viktor always wondered about the lives of doctors when they weren’t seeing anyone during working hours.

“Viktor! Hi, good morning!”

Was Yuuri always so startled to see his own patients? Had he not known Viktor would be coming in today?

Viktor decided not to take a seat, realizing he’d left his donut pillow at the hotel. He was still aching from his journey through public transportation and it felt better to stand.

Yuuri silently regarded him for a second before sliding on his glasses and making his way over, pulling his chair along.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked and took his seat, eyes roaming along Viktor’s frame, probably checking his stance, “You’re still favoring your left leg a bit.”

“I took the train today,” Viktor said proudly, “Lots of walking and climbing. It was quite a bit of exercise but I’m tired of being cooped up in a taxi.”

Yuuri reached out and settled both hands on Viktor’s hips. He moved the hand on Viktor’s left leg down along his outer thigh, squeezing along the muscle and stopping at the knee. His fingers began feeling around the area, kneading softly.

“It’s good to be mobile. You have been doing stretches as well in your hotel, correct?” Yuuri asked. He glanced up at Viktor while putting pressure on a particularly sore spot on his leg, watching him fight the grimace off his face.

“Yes, everything you asked. And more! I had a nice walk yesterday. I like to go out so I will not be so stiff,” Viktor reported and exhaled in relief when Yuuri’s hand moved up to his waist, signaling him with a soft tug to turn around.

Pressure was added to his back, starting from his shoulder area, and trickling along down his spine.

“Don’t overdo it,” Yuuri murmured and pressed up against the base of Viktor’s tailbone.

Viktor inhaled sharply, surprised at the sudden, numbing ache, and his reaction was to press up on his toes to escape the sensation. It was jarring and threw him off his happy groove for a second.

“Sorry,” Yuuri said in remorseless fashion, “Bend down and touch your toes.”

Here it was, albeit too soon for Viktor. He’d tried to do it this morning and was met with disappointment when his fingers barely brushed at the top of his foot for shorter than a couple of seconds. He knew what he was capable of, even when injured, but there was always that nagging fear that he’d make things worse and end up banned from his sport longer than he was okay with. Or that he’d never regain what had been lost due to his injuries.

He held his pose two seconds longer than he’d been able to this morning and chocked it up to the warm up he got during his hike through the undergrounds of New York City. His pride was left intact and his cheerful mood rebounded.

“Let’s go over to the bed so you can do some of the stretches we’ve gone over. And then we’ll try something new, okay?” Yuuri said and got up once Viktor was standing again, “Do you want some water first?”

“Please.”

* * *

Two appointments with Yuuri and several days after his accident, Viktor found he could move more smoothly through the stretches previously taught by Yuuri. He’d feel sore later, understandably, but progress was progress. He still had his dignity. He would be okay and back on the ice and ready for another program. Another grueling season 

“Either your diagnosis was not as severe as we first thought, or you’re just a fast healer,” Yuuri noted as he helped Viktor up into a sitting position, “I want to start on muscle strengthening exercises with you during our next appointment, however, if you won’t be here for much longer—”

“I extended my stay,” Viktor said, the glee of finally breaking the news to Yuuri evident in his tone, “I can meet with you several more times! Maybe for another week or two! Isn’t it great?”

Yuuri blinked, caught off-guard, and then recovered a few seconds later.

“Okay. Well, I’ll have to change my initial plan then to accommodate a more suitable schedule for your recovery. You probably won’t need to see me for another three days, then. Unless, of course, the pain worsens and you feel it’s necessary to come earlier.”

“I like seeing you!” Viktor blurted, no hesitation.

Yuuri paused again, fixed his glasses, and avoided direct contact with his charming smile. The one the media loved to capture. The one that the world had seen dozens of times on Viktor’s social media accounts. Dazzling only when viewed pointblank. Useless when ignored.

“Okay, well, you could call the office when you’re ready to come back.”

“Two days is good, I need a speedy recovery. I’ll just schedule at the front—”

“I prefer if you schedule it with me. Guang Hong is a bit tied up today.”

It was Viktor’s turn to pause and blink with mild surprise at the forced tone of Yuuri’s voice. The lack of eye contact was also quite concerning, a sign that he shouldn’t pry. It seemed serious.

“He did look a bit rushed when I saw him earlier,” Viktor mused, deciding to delve into the topic anyway. He was curious, he couldn’t help it. And he was still wondering about the flustered appearance of the little receptionist.

“Yes, well. There are…things…he needs to think about. A lot on his mind. No time to relax like usual.”

Viktor nodded, as if understanding, though he had to bite his cheek so he wouldn’t dive further into the discussion on Yuuri’s coworker. Everyone had their secrets and concerns.

“Is it his boyfriend?”

Yuuri’s mouth fell open and he wasn’t quick enough to close it. Viktor’s smile widened and Yuuri looked directly at it. Caught, flubbing with silent words, a frog gasping for air.

“Did you catch them being naughty?” Viktor teased and flashed his pristine teeth when Yuuri’s face reddened.

“That’s, no! Nothing of the sort. It’s, no, that’s—”

“No need to explain further,” Viktor cut in, as if he hadn’t been prodding for gossip, “I don’t want to embarrass him behind his back! Poor thing. Hope he feels better regardless of what’s going on.”

Yuuri settled down after some flustered mumbling and fixing of his shirt, a light blue button-up that Viktor found flattering on the young doctor. Then he disappeared into the side room where Viktor guessed he kept much of his smaller equipment. He returned with a cylinder foam roller and positioned it beneath Viktor’s outstretched, left leg, directly beneath his thigh. The angle caused a bit of an ache in his already worn-out muscles, but Viktor had learned through his countless experiences with physical therapy that healing was filled with bruises and bumps. He’d been right in telling Yakov that a break due to injury was hardly a vacation.

“I’m going to push your knee down so the muscle contracts and we’ll hold it for 5 seconds,” Yuuri instructed, “You can do this in the hotel with a rolled towel if you like. Repeat ten times. If it’s painful, let me know.”

Yuuri settled a warm palm on Viktor’s knee, the fingers of his other hand lightly touching Viktor’s inner thigh, and then he applied downward pressure. Viktor counted silently, noticing he was a bit faster than Yuuri’s count. When Yuuri let up, he motioned for Viktor’s hands to take the place of his own, positioning them in the proper manner.

“Put your fingers here so you can feel the contraction in your thigh,” the doctor explained, moving Viktor’s other hand to his thigh, “Now, push your knee down on your own. As far as is comfortable.”

Viktor continued with the next rep as Yuuri stood quietly at his side, their fingers touching the tensing muscle of his quad. It was uncomfortable but not enough to be painful. He’d done this exercise countless times in the past but with Yuuri it felt new, revamped perhaps. Viktor didn’t feel the burden of needing to get better overnight under the sharp, unapologetic gaze of his personal therapist back at home. He’d heal in his own time, he could already feel his body mending itself. Slowly, carefully, with no room for an easy re-injury to set him back several more weeks, maybe even months. For once, he wasn’t ashamed to accept gradual results.

“You are not so nervous with me today,” Viktor noted, wanting to get out of his head and back onto the lighthearted mode of teasing.

Yuuri’s thumb twitched.

It was so simple.

“Have you gotten over me so soon?” Viktor questioned further and innocently batted his lashes up at his American therapist.

He had physical therapists in several countries—another American one was in Colorado or some other state on that side—that he could count on for emergencies when he was domestic, and by far Yuuri was his most favorite. If necessary, he’d travel across the entire United States to see him again in the future.

That was not a good place to go right now as far as thoughts went, so Viktor reeled himself back to more shallow ground.

“You are still a bit jumpy, but not crazily so. Not like before,” Viktor mused, a hint of mirth in his eyes.

“I’ve had time to think,” Yuuri responded softly and pulled his hand away, eyes focused on Viktor’s leg, “I really did overreact before. I apologize again for my behavior.”

“No need! It’s all in good fun and I was not lying when I said I enjoy coming to see you.”

Viktor paused with his sixth rep to shoot Yuuri a smile, but there was still a lack of eye contact. He wondered how to catch the physician’s attention so that they could properly communicate. It was unusual to talk to the top of someone’s head, even if he was taller. And he wasn’t in the best of shape to be bending and contorting just to make their eyes meet.

Change of subject, perhaps.

“Do you have a pool for swim exercise? I do it a lot with my home therapist.”

He hoped for a yes.

“…I don’t. Not in this building.”

Oh.

“But if you are here for a bit longer, I could get you a guest pass for the gym I go to. I recommend you do some light swimming exercises a couple of times a week once we begin strength training.”

“I love swimming!”

The water back in St. Petersburg was pleasant to swim in during summer and Viktor spent much of his limited free time out at the beach. Once winter struck, he headed to an indoor pool, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness once he dove beneath the surface. Compared to gliding on the ice, gliding along underwater came at a close second for attaining paradise on earth.

“If I hadn’t been a skater, then I might’ve become a swimmer,” he said and was glad to see Yuuri smiling at the comment.

There was a small flicker of his eyes going up. Almost.

“I enjoy the beach, though there isn’t much of one around here. Not compared to back home,” Yuuri said as he moved the cylinder out from beneath Viktor’s thigh, “Lie back as best you can for this next exercise. Both legs up on the bed, please.”

It took some deep breaths, careful maneuvering, and a well-placed pillow to find a comfortable position, and Viktor settled the back of his hands atop his forehead, waiting for Yuuri’s next instruction. His eyelids twitched when Yuuri rolled the foam beneath his left knee.

“I want you to stretch out this leg, slowly and as far as possible. Hold for 5 seconds, like before. Then relax. Ten times,” came the smooth command and Viktor followed it effortlessly.

Yuuri’s hand settled against the outside of his thigh this time and Viktor shut his eyes as he focused on tensing and relaxing his sore muscle. He fought the urge to give up entirely on tonight’s outing with Christophe, summoning up the motivation to tackle whatever pain might come his way later in the evening. He could handle it.

“Your home has beaches?” Viktor asked to keep his attention anywhere else but on his leg.

“Well, sort of. Nothing as grand as Phi—a friend’s hometown beaches. The water is a bit cool but the beaches are cleaner than out here. As expected of a countryside town.”

“In America? I have not been much to the beaches in America,” Viktor mused.

“No. In Japan."

“Ah, so you are Japanese. I guessed so from your name.”

Viktor smiled, more as a sign of ambition as his muscle tensed than joy at being able to guess Yuuri’s origins. If he acted positive, his mind would stay positive, or so he’d hoped. There was a reason for his charming smile.

“I do not think of beaches when I think of Japan. Only mountains, though they are beautiful,” he contemplated aloud and reminisced shortly on past trips to the far-off island for various competitions.

“Yeah, the shores of my town are not the most alluring in the world, but it is home,” Yuuri replied quietly and Viktor hummed in agreement. He would say the same for St. Petersburg in a heartbeat.

He didn’t want to think of Russia right now.

“You should accompany me at the pool,” he said while relaxing his leg. Three more to go.

“We can go together for a session so I can do some work with you in the water,” Yuuri said without hesitation.

Viktor’s eyes sprung open and he looked up at Yuuri with a sparkle in his eyes.

“I thought you’d reject me and here you are willing to tag along! We should go tomorrow!”

He couldn’t help his excitement whenever he won a battle, effortless or not. A win was a win, regardless of how he’d gotten there.

“I think you should rest tomorrow considering all the exercise you’re doing today. It’s good to take breaks,” Yuuri reasoned, “As I said, no use straining yourself."

“Then the day after. See! Two days and I’ll be back, like I said. I will see you every two days. That is my schedule with you.”

Viktor knew a win when he got it and he’d definitely won this round with Yuuri. It was obvious with the way the other man fiddled with his glasses before keeping his hands several centimeters away from Viktor’s thigh. As if he was unsure of where to physically put himself since his mind was not yet put together. The lack of eye contact. The tension in his jaw as his face tried to figure out what emotion to express.

Yuuri was so easy to read and Viktor was having a good time of it.

“I’ll have Guang Hong email you the gym address.”

“I thought he was busy today,” Viktor noted with glee, “Why don’t you just text it to me?”

“A text is a bit—”

“No worries, I have an international phone plan and haven’t been messaging much with the data. Just one text won’t kill my budget! I won gold after all, again.”

Yuuri’s form of resignation was placing his hand back on Viktor’s thigh. Back to business. Back to being in charge when Viktor had tossed him a bit. All in good fun.

“Alright. I’ll text it to you later with a map. I’ll have a guest pass ready by then.”

“I look forward to it!”

“Our next appointment is in two days. Please finish your ten reps.”

“With pleasure!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Returning to this fic was like returning to a game I haven't touched in years. I had to reread things and do research again because I'd forgotten everything. I have a better plan for this fic now.
> 
> Also, what is Viktor up to? Hm.


End file.
